THE 


DISTRICT  SCHOOL  AS  IT 


SCENERY-SHOWING, 


AND    OTHER   WRITINGS. 


BY   WARREN   BURTON. 


BOSTON : 

PRESS  OF  T.  R.  MARVIN,  42  CONGRESS  STREET. 
1  852. 


Entered  according  to  an  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852,  by 
WAEKEN  BURTON,  in  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massa- 
chusetts. 


PREFACE. 


THIS  volume  contains  such  productions  only  as  have  al- 
ready appeared  in  print.  Two  of  them, — those  named  in  the 
title  page, — have  been  published  as  books  by  themselves,  and 
in  this  form  are  still  for  sale.  The  publishers  have  kindly 
permitted  them  to  be  included  in  this  collection,  which  is  to  be 
disposed  of  to  subscribers,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Author. 

'THE  DISTRICT  SCHOOL  AS  IT  WAS,'  is  thus  presented  to 
the  public  by  the  publishers  of  the  last  edition,  in  an  advertise- 
ment prefixed  to  the  work. 

"  The  following  work  was  first  published  in  Boston  in  1833,  and. 
was  received  with  unqualified  favor.  A  second  and  larger  edition 
was  issued  in  New  York,  with  equal  success.  Several  hundred  of 
this  edition  were  purchased  by  a  distinguished  friend  of  education, 
in  a  neighboring  State,  (Henry  Barnard,  Esq.,  of  Conn.)  and  dis- 
tributed for  the  purpose  of  suggesting  ideas  of  reform. 

"  It  was  republished  in  London  a  few  years  ago,  as  giving  a  faith- 
ful description  of  one  of  the  Institutions  of  New  England. 

"It  is  hoped  that  it  will  be  deemed  particularly  appropriate  to 
School  Libraries,  and  not  unsuited  to  others ;  that  it  will  be  sought 
as  an  agreeable  gift-book  from  Teachers  to  Pupils  ;  and  lastly,  that 
it  will  ever  be  of  historical  use  to  rising  generations,  educated- 
under  better  auspices,  as  exhibiting  a  true  and  graphic  picture  of 
'  The  District  School  as  it  Was.' 

'  SCENERY-SHOWING  '  was  published  in  Boston  in  1844,. 
under  the  title  of  the  Scenery-Shower,  the  last  word  being 


4  PREFACE. 

derived  from  the  verb  to  show.  As,  however,  it  is  liable  to  be 
mispronounced,  so  as  to  bear  an  entirely  different  meaning,  or 
rather  in  this  connection,  no  meaning  at  all,  a  new  but  similar 
title  has  been  adopted.  In  respect  to  the  object  of  the  work, 
the  reader  is  referred  to  its  introductory  matter  in  the  proper 
place. 

The  other  pieces,  with  one  exception,  have  appeared  in 
periodicals.  Some  of  the  titles  have  been  slightly  changed. 
The  narrative  and  descriptive  portions  are  more  likely  to 
attract  readers,  while  the  more  solid  matter  may  be  neglected  ; 
for  this  reason,  attention  is  especially  asked  to  the  article 
headed,  '  The  Divine  Agency  in  Nature.'  In  this,  some 
views  are  presented  respecting  God's  presence  and  immediate 
action  in  the  material  universe,  which  are  not  entertained  at  all 
by  some  minds,  and  which,  though  believed,  are  not  clearly 
apprehended  by  others. 

The  closing  effusion  was  the  first  production  of  the  author 
that  ever  appeared  in  print.  It  was  sent  to  a  religious  periodi- 
cal in  1824,  in  such  a  way  as  to  leave  the  writer  unknown.  It 
has  been  sought  and  found  among  the  things  gone  by,  as  per- 
adventure,  by  revision,  it  might  make  an  appropriate  conclusion. 
It  was,  however,  committed  to  the  press,  word  for  word,  as  it 
was  originally  penned  by  the  inexperienced  and  diffident 
writer,  nearly  twenty-eight  years  ago. 

Finally,  it  is  hoped  that  in  this  volume  will  be  found  not  only 
entertainment  but  instruction,  and  that  it  will  be  considered  a 
desirable  addition  to  the  FAMILY  LIBRARY. 

BOSTON,  May  7,  1852. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  DISTRICT  SCHOOL  AS  IT  WAS . 

A  SUPPLICATION  TO  THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES,      .  155 

A  TRAVELER'S  STORY,  FOR  THE  PERUSAL  OF  PARENTS,      .    .  177 

THE  MOUNTAIN  TOWN  AND  THE  MAGNANIMOUS  BOY,     .     .     .  189 

THE  LIGHTHOUSE  OF  LIGHTHOUSES, 201 

THE  DARK  OF   AUTUMN  AND  THE   BRIGHT  OF   WINTER  IN 

NEW  ENGLAND, 211 

SCENERY-SHOWING,  IN  WORD-PAINTINGS  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL, 

THE  PICTURESQUE,  AND  THE  GRAND  IN  NATURE,     .     .  219 

THE  DIVINE  AGENCY  IN  NATURE, 315 

THE  DEVOUT  AFRICAN 335 

EMULATION,  AS  A  MOTIVE  TO  STUDY, 343 

A  PRAYER, 363 


FRONTISPIECE.  — Seep.  27. 

COPIED  FROM   "  THE  ONLY  SUKE   GUIDE." 


THE 


DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


BY 


ONE   WHO    WENT    TO    IT. 


A  WORD 

To  the  glancing  Reader,  if  he  will  just  stop  a  moment  and  see 
what  it  is. 

This  little  volume  was  written  in  the  hope  that  it  would  be  a 
trifling  aid  to  that  improvement  which  is  going  on  in  respect 
to  common  schools.  It  was  also  intended  to  present  a  pleasant 
picture  of  some  peculiarities  which  have  prevailed  in  our 
country,  but  are  now  passing  away. 

It  is  trusted  that  no  one  who  has  kept*  or  is  keeping  a  dis- 
trict school  after  the  old  fashion,  will  be  offended  at  the  slight 
degree  of  satire  he  will  meet  with  here.  Any  one  of  due 
benevolence  is  willing  to  be  laughed  at,  and  even  to  join  in  the 
laugh  against  himself,  if  it  will  but  hasten  the  tardy  steps  of 
improvement.  Indeed,  there  are  quite  a  number  who  have 
reason  to  believe  that  the  author  has  here  sketched  some  of  his 
own  school-keeping  deficiencies. 

It  may  be  reasonably  anticipated,  that  the  young  will  be  the 
most  numerous  readers  of  these  pages.  Some  scenes  have 
been  described,  the  sports  of  the  school-going  season,  for  in- 

*  Keep  school  is  a  very  different  thing  from  teach  school,  according  to  Mr. 
J.  G.  Carter,  in  his  Essays  on  Popular  Education. 


16  TO    THE    READER. 

stance,  with  a  special  view  to  their  entertainment.  It  ia 
trusted,  however,  that  the  older  may  not  find  it  unpleasant  to 
recall  the  pastimes  of  their  early  years. 

Now  and  then  a  word  has  been  used  which  some  young 
readers  may  not  understand.  In  this  case  they  are  entreated 
to  seek  a  dictionary,  and  find  out  its  meaning.  They  may  be 
assured  that  the  time  spent  in  this  way  will  not  be  lost  The 
definition  thus  acquired  may  be  of  use  to  them  the  very  next 
book  they  shall  take  up,  or  at  least  in  the  course  of  the  reading, 
their  future  leisure  will  allow  them  to  enjoy. 

The  reader  shall  no  longer  be  detained  from  the  experience 
of  a  supposed  school-boy  ;  if  true  to  nature,  no  matter  whether 
it  really  be,  or  be  not,  that  of  the 

AUTHOR. 


THE 


DISTRICT  SCHOOL  AS  IT  WAS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

\ 

THE     OLD     SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

THE  Old  School-house,  as  it  used  to  be  called, 
how  distinctly  it  rises  to  existence  anew  before  the 
eye  of  my  mind !  Here  was  kept  the  District 
School  as  it  was.  This  was  the  seat  of  my  rustic 
Alma  Mater,  to  borrow  a  phrase  from  collegiate  and 
classic  use.  It  is  now  no  more ;  and  those  of  sim- 
ilar construction  are  passing  away,  never  to  be 
patterned  again.  It  may  be  well,  therefore,  to 
describe  the  edifice  wherein  and  whereabout  occur- 
red many  of  the  scenes  about  to  be  recorded.  I 
would  have  future  generations  acquainted  with  the 
accommodations,  or  rather  dis-accommodations,  of 
their  predecessors. 

The  Old  School-house  in  District  No.  5,  stood  on 
the  top  of  a  very  high  hill,  on  the  north-  side  of 
what  was  called  the  County  road.  The  house  of 
2* 


18  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

Capt.  Clark,  about  ten  rods  off,  was  the  only  human 
dwelling  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  The  reason 
why  this  seminary  of  letters  was  perched  so  high 
in  the  air,  and  so  far  from  the  homes  of  those  who 
resorted  to  it,  was  this : — Here  was  the  centre  of 
the  district,  as  near  as  surveyor's  chain  could  desig- 
nate. The  people  east  would  not  permit  the  build- 
ing to  be  carried  one  rod  further  west,  and  those 
of  the  opposite  quarter  were  as  obstinate  on  their 
side.  So  here  it  was  placed  ;  and  this  continued 
to  be  literally  the  "  hill  of  science  "  to  generation 
after  generation  of  learners,  for  fifty  years. 

The  edifice  was  set  half  in  Capt.  Clark's  field, 
and  half  in  the  road.  The  wood-pile  lay  in  the 
corner  made  by  the  east  end  and  the  stone  wall. 
The  best  roof  it  ever  had  over  it  was  the  changeful 
sky,  which  was  a  little  too  leaky  to  keep  the  fuel 
at  all  times  fit  for  combustion,  without  a  great  deal 
of  puffing  and  smoke.  The  door-step  was  a  broad 
unhewn  rock,  brought  from  the  neighboring  pasture. 
It  had  not  a  flat  and  even  surface,  but  was  consider- 
ably sloping  from  the  door  to  the  road  ;  so  that,  in 
icy  times,  the  scholars,  in  passing  out,  used  to  snatch 
from  the  scant  declivity  the  transitory  pleasure  of 
a  slide.  But  look  out  for  a  slip-up,  ye  careless  ;  for 
many  a  time  have  I  seen  an  urchin's  head  where  his 
feet  were  but  a  second  before.  And  once,  the  most 
lofty  and  perpendicular  pedagogue  I  ever  knew, 
became  suddenly  horizontal ized  in  his  egress. 

But  we  have  lingered  round  this  door-step  long 
enough.  Before  we  cross  it,  however,  let  us  just 


AS    IT    WAS.  19 

glance  at  the  outer  side  of  the  structure.  It  was 
never  painted  by  man  ;  but  the  clouds  of  many 
years  had  stained  it  with  their  own  dark  hue.  The 
nails  were  starting  from  their  fastness,  and  fellow- 
clapboards  were  becoming  less  closely  and  warmly 
intimate.  There  were  six  windows,  which  here  and 
there  stopped  and  distorted  the  passage  of  light  by 
fractures,  patches,  and  seams  of  putty.  There  were 
shutters  of  board,  like  those  of  a  store,  which  were 
of  no  kind  of  use,  excepting  to  keep  the  windows 
from  harm  in  vacations,  when  they  were  the  least 
liable  to  harm.  They  might  have  been  convenient 
screens  against  the  summer  sun,  were  it  not  that 
their  shade  was  inconvenient  darkness.  Some  of 
these,  from  loss  of  buttons,  were  fastened  back  by 
poles,  which  were  occasionally  thrown  down  in  the 
heedlessness  of  play,  and  not  replaced  till  repeated 
slams  had  broken  a  pane  of  glass,  or  the  patience  of 
the  teacher.  To  crown  this  description  of  externals, 
I  must  say  a  word  about  the  roof.  The  shingles 
had  been  battered  apart  by  a  thousand  rains ;  and, 
excepting  where  the  most  defective  had  been 
exchanged  for  new  ones,  they  were  dingy  with  the 
mold  and  moss  of  time.  The  bricks  of  the 
chimney-top  were  losing  their  cement,  and  looked 
as  if  some  high  wind  might  hurl  them  from  their 
smoky  vocation. 

We  will  now  go  inside.  First,  there  is  an  entry 
which  the  district  were  sometimes  provident  enough 
to  store  with  dry  pine  wood,  as  an  antagonist  to  the 
greenness  and  wetness  of  the  other  fuel.  A  door 


20  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

'  on  the  left  admits  us  to  the  school-room.  Here  is 
a  space  about  twenty  feet  long  and  ten  wide,  the 
reading  and  spelling  parade.  At  the  south  end  of 
it,  at  the  left  as  you  enter,  was  one  seat  and 
writing  bench,  making  a  right  angle  with  the  rest 
of  the  seats.  This  was  occupied  in  the  winter  by 
two  of  the  oldest  males  in  the  school.  At  the 
opposite  end  was  the  magisterial  desk,  raised  upon 
a  platform  a  foot  from  the  floor.  The  fire-place 
was  on  the  right,  half  way  between  the  door 
of  entrance  and  another  door  leading  into  a  dark 
closet,  where  the  girls  put  their  outside  garments 
and  their  dinner  baskets.  This  also  served  as  a 
fearful  dungeon  for  the  immuring  of  offenders. 
Directly  opposite  the  fire-place  was  an  aisle,  two 
feet  and  a  half  wide,  running  up  an  inclined  floor 
to  the  opposite  side  of  the  room.  On  each  side  of 
this  were  five  or  six  long  seats  and  writing  benches, 
for  the  accommodation  of  the  school  at  their  studies. 
In  front  of  these,  next  to  the  spelling  floor,  were 
low,  narrow  seats  for  abecedarians  and  others  near 
that  rank.  In  general,  The  older  the  scholar,  the 
further  from  the  front  was  his  location.  The  win- 
dows behind  the  back  seat  were  so  low  that  the 
traveler  could  generally  catch  the  stealthy  glance 
of  curiosity  as  he  passed.  Such  was  the  Old 
School-house  at  the  time  I  first  entered  it.  Its 
subsequent  condition  and  many  other  inconveni- 
ences will  be  noticed  hereafter. 


AS    IT    WAS.  21 


CHAPTER    II. 

FIRST    SUMMER    AT    SCHOOL MARY    SMITH. 

I  WAS  three  years  and  a  half  old  when  I  first  en- 
tered the  Old  School-house  as  an  abecedarian.  I* 
ought,  perhaps,  to  have  set  foot  on  the  first  step  of 
learning's  ladder  before  this  ;  but  I  had  no  elder 
brother  or  sister  to  lead  me  to  school,  a  mile  off; 
and  it  never  occurred  to  my  good  parents,  that  they 
could  teach  me  even  the  alphabet ;  or,  perhaps, 
they  could  not  afford  the  time,  or  muster  the 
patience  for  the  tedious  process.  I  had,  however, 
learned  the  name  of  capital  A,  because  it  stood  at 
the  head  of  the  column,  and  was  the  similitude  of  a 
harrow  frame  ;  of  O,  also,  from  its  resemblance  to 
a  hoop.  Its  sonorous  name,  moreover,  was  a  fre- 
quent passenger  through  my  mouth,  after  I  had  be- 
gun to  articulate  ;  its  ample  sound  being  the  most 
natural  medium  by  which  man,  born  unto  trouble, 
signifies  the  pains  of  his  lot.  X,  too,  was  familiar, 
as  it  seemed  so  like  the  end  of  the  old  saw-horse 
that  stood  in  the  wood-shed.  Further  than  this  my 
alphabetical  lore  did  not  extend,  according  to  present 
recollection. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  first  day  of  scholarship, 
as  it  was  the  most  important  era  which  had  yet 


22  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

occurred  to  my  experience.  Behold  me  on  the 
eventful  morning  of  the  first  Monday  in  June, 
arrayed  in  my  new  jacket  and  trousers,  into  which 
my  importance  had  been  shoved  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life.  This  change  in  my  costume  had  been 
deferred  till  this  day,  that  I  might  be  "  all  nice  and 
clean  to  go  to  school."  Then  my  Sunday  hat — 
(not  of  soft  drab-colored  fur,  ye  city  urchins,  but 
of  coarse  and  hard  sheep's  wool) — my  Sunday  hat 
adorned  my  head  for  the  first  time  in  common 
week-day  use  ;  for  my  other  had  been  crushed, 
torn,  and  soiled  out  of  the  seemliness,  and  almost 
out  of  the  form,  of  a  hat.  My  little  new  basket, 
too,  bought  expressly  for  the  purpose,  was  laden 
with  'lection -cake  and  cheese  for  my  dinner,  and 
slung  upon  my  arm.  An  old  Perry's  spelling-book, 
that  our  boy  Ben  used  at  the  winter  school,  com- 
pleted my  equipment. 

Mary  Smith  was  my  first  teacher,  and  the  dearest 
to  my  heart  I  ever  had.  She  was  a  niece  of  Mrs. 
Carter,  who  lived  in  the  nearest  house  on  the  way 
to  school.  She  had  visited  her  aunt  the  winter 
before  ;  and  her  uncle,  being  chosen  committee  for 
the  school  at  the  town-meeting  in  the  spring,  sent 
immediately  to  her  home  in  Connecticut,  and  en- 
gaged her  to  teach  the  summer  school.  During  the 
few  days  she  spent  at  his  house,  she  had  shown 
herself  peculiarly  qualified  to  interest,  and  to  gain 
the  love  of  children.  Some  of  the  neighbors,  too, 
who  had  dropped  in  while  she  was  there,  were 
much  pleased  with  her  appearance.  She  had  taught 


AS    IT    WAS.  23 

one  season  in  her  native  State ;  and  that  she  suc- 
ceeded well,  Mr.  Carter  could  not  doubt.  He  pre- 
ferred her,  therefore,  to  hundreds  near  by;  and  for 
once  the  partiality  of  the  relative  proved  profitable 
to  the  district. 

Now  Mary  Smith  was  to  board  at  her  uncle's. 
This  was  deemed  a  fortunate  circumstance  on  my 
account,  as  she  would  take  care  of  me  on  the  way, 
which  was  needful  to  my  inexperienced  childhood. 
My  mother  led  me  to  Mr.  Carter's,  to  commit  me  to 
my  guardian  and  instructor  for  the  summer.  I  en- 
tertained the  most  extravagant  ideas  of  the  dignity 
of  the  school-keeping  vocation,  and  it  was  with 
trembling  reluctance  that  I  drew  near  the  presence 
of  so  lovely  a  creature  as  they  told  me  Mary  Smith 
was.  But  she  so  gently  took  my  quivering  little 
hand,  and  so  tenderly  stooped  and  kissed  my  cheek, 
and  said  such  soothing  and  winning  words,  that  my 
timidity  was  gone  at  once. 

She  used  to  lead  me  to  school  by  the  hand,  while 
John  and  Sarah  Carter  gamboled  on,  unless  I  chose 
to  gambol  with  them ;  but  the  first  day,  at  least,  I 
kept  by  her  side.  All  her  demeanor  toward  me, 
and  indeed  toward  us  all,  was  of  a  piece  with  her 
first  introduction.  She  called  me  to  her  to  read, 
not  with  a  look  and  voice  as  if  she  were  doing  a 
duty  she  disliked,  and  was  determined  I  should  do 
mine  too,  like  it  or  not,  as  is  often  the  manner  of 
teachers  ;  but  with  a  cheerful  smile  and  a  softening 
eye,  as  if  she  were  at  a  pastime,  and  wished  me  to 
partake  of  it. 


24  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

My  first  business  was  to  master  the  ABC,  and 
no  small  achievement  it  was  ;  for  many  a  little 
learner  waddles  to  school  through  the  summer,  and 
wallows  to  the  same  through  the  winter,  before  he 
accomplishes  it,  if  he  happens  to  be  taught  in  the 
manner  of  former  times.  This  might  have  been 
my  lot,  had  it  not  been  for  Mary  Smith.  Few  of 
the  better  methods  of  teaching,  which  now  make 
'the  road  to  knowledge  so  much  more  easy  and 
pleasant,  had  then  found  their  way  out  of  or  into, 
the  brain  of  the  pedagogical  vocation.  Mary  went 
on  in  the  old  way  indeed  ;  but  the  whole  exercise 
was  done  with  such  sweetness  on  her  part,  that  the 
dilatory  and  usually  unpleasant  task  was  to  me  a 
pleasure,  and  consumed  not  so  much  precious  time 
as  it  generally  does  in  the  case  of  heads  as  stupid  as 
mine.  By  the  close  of  that  summer,  the  alphabet 
was  securely  my  own.  That  hard,  and  to  me  un- 
meaning, string  of  sights  and  sounds,  were  bound 
forever  to  my  memory  by  the  ties  created  by  gentle 
tones  and  looks. 

That  hardest  of  all  tasks,  sitting  becomingly  still, 
was  rendered  easier  by  her  goodness.  When  I 
grew  restless,  and  turned  from  side  to  side,  arid 
changed  from  posture  to  posture,  in  search  of  relief 
from  my  uncomfortableness,  she  spoke  words  of 
sympathy  rather  than  reproof.  Thus  I  was  won 
to  be  as  quiet  as  I  could.  When  I  grew  drowsy, 
and  needed  but  a  comfortable  position  to  drop  into 
sleep  and  forgetfulness  of  the  weary  hours,  she 
would  gently  lay  me  at  length  on  my  seat,  and 


AS    IT    WAS.  25 

leave  me  just  falling  to  slumber,  with  her  sweet 
smile  the  last  thing  beheld  or  remembered. 

Thus  wore_away  my  first -summer  at  the  district 
school.  As  I  look  back  on  it,  faintly  traced  on 
memory,  it  seems  like  a  beautiful  dream,  the  images 
of  which  are  all  softness  and  peace.  I  recollect 
that,  when  the  last  day  came,  it  was  not  one  of 
light-hearted  joy — it  was  one  of  sadness,  and  it 
closed  in  tears.  I  was  now  obliged  to  stay  at  home 
in  solitude,  for  the  want  of  playmates,  and  in  weari- 
ness of  the  passing  time,  for  the  want  of  some- 
thing to  do ;  as  there  was  no  particular  pleasure  in 
saying  A  B  C  all  alone,  with  no  Mary  Smith's  voice 
and  looks  for  an  accompaniment. 


THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE    SPELLING-BOOK. 

As  the  spelling-book  was  the  first  manual  of  in- 
struction used  in  school,  and  kept  in  our  hands  for 
many  years,  I  think  it  worthy  of  a  separate  chapter 
in  these  annals  of  the  times  that  are  past.  The 
spelling-book  used  in  our  school  from  time  imme- 
morial— immemorial  at  least  to  the  generation  of 
learners  to  which  I  belonged — was  thus  entitled : 
"  THE  ONLY  SURE  GUIDE  to  the  English  Tongue, 
by  William  Perry,  Lecturer  of  the  English  Lan- 
guage in  the  Academy  of  Edinburgh,  and  author  of 
several  valuable  school-books."  What  a  magnifi- 
cent title  !  To  what  an  enviable  superiority  had 
its  author  arrived!  The  Only  Sure  Guide!  Of 
course,  the  book  must  be  as  infallible  as  the  catholic 
creed,  and  its  author  the  very  Pope  of  the  jurisdic- 
tion of  letters. 

But  the  contents  of  the  volume  manifested  most 
clearly  the  pontifical  character  of  the  illustrious 
man  ;  for,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  thereof, 
faith  and  memory  were  all  that  was  demanded  of 
the  novice.  The  understanding  was  no  more  called 
on  than  that  of  the  devotee  at  his  Latin  mass-book. 
But  let  us  enter  on  particulars.  In  the  first  place, 


AS    IT    WAS.  27 

there  was  a  frontispiece.  We  little  folks,  however, 
did  not  then  know  that  the  great  picture  facing  the 
title-page  was  so  denominated.  This  frontispiece 
consisted  of  two  parts.  In  the  upper  division,  there 
was  the  representation  of  a  tree  laden  with  fruit  of 
the  largest  description.  It  was  intended,  I  presume, 
as  a  striking  and  alluring  emblem  of  the  general 
subject,  the  particular  branches,  and  the  rich  fruits 
of  education.  But  the  figurative  meaning  was 
above  my  apprehension,  and  no  one  took  the  trouble 
to  explain  it.  I  supposed  it  nothing  but  the  picture 
of  a  luxuriant  apple-tree  ;  and  it  always  made  me 
think  of  that  good  tree  in  my  father's  orchard,  so 
dear  to  my  palate, — the  pumpkin-sweeting. 

There  ran  a  ladder  from  the  ground  up  among 
the  branches,  which  was  designed  to  represent  the 
ladder  of  learning ;  but  of  this  I  was  ignorant. 
Little  boys  were  ascending  this  in  pursuit  of  the 
fruit  that  hung  there  so  temptingly.  Others  were 
already  up  in  the  tree,  plucking  the  apples  directly 
from  their  stems ;  while  others  were  on  the  ground, 
picking  up  those  that  had  dropped  in  their  ripeness. 
At  the  very  top  of  the  tree,  with  his  head  reared 
above  all  fruit  or  foliage,  was  a  bare-headed  lad 
with  a  book  in  his  hand,  which  he  seemed  intently 
studying.  I  supposed  that  he  was  a  boy  that  loved 
his  book  better  than  apples,  as  all  good  boys  should, 
— one  who  in  very  childhood  had  trodden  tempta- 
tion under  foot.  But,  indeed,  it  was  only  a  boy 
who  was  gathering  fruit  from  the  topmost  boughs, 
according  to  the  figurative  meaning,  as  the  others 


28  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

were  from  those  lower  down.  Or  rather,  as  he  was 
portrayed,  he  seemed  like  one  who  had  culled  the 
fairest  and  highest  growing  apples,  and  was  trying 
to  learn  from  a  book  where  he  should  find  a  fresh 
and  loftier  tree,  upon  which  he  might  climb  to  a 
richer  repast  and  a  nobler  distinction. 

This  picture  used  to  retain  my  eye  longer  than 
any  other  in  the  book.  It  was  probably  more 
agreeable  on  account  of  the  other  part  of  the  fron- 
tispiece below  it.  This  was  the  representation  of  a 
school  at  their  studies,  with  the  master  at  his  desk. 
He  was  pictured  as  an  elderly  man,  with  an  im- 
mense wig  enveloping  his  head  arid  bagging  about 
his  neck,  and  with  a  face  that  had  a  sort  of  half- 
way look,  or  rather,  perhaps,  a  compound  look, 
made  up  of  an  expression  of  perplexity  at  a  sentence 
in  parsing,  or  a  sum  in  arithmetic,  and  a  frown*  at 
the  playful  urchins  in  the  distant  seats.  There 
could  not  have  been  a  more  capital  device  by  which 
the  pleasures  of  a  free  range  and  delicious  eating, 
both  so  dear  to  the  young,  might  be  contrasted 
with  stupefying  confinement  and  longing  palates  in 
the  presence  of  crabbed  authority.  Indeed,  the 
first  thing  the  Only  Sure  Guide  said  to  its  pupil 
was,  "  Play  truant  and  be  happy;  "  and  most  of  the 
subsequent  contents  were  not  of  a  character  to  make 
the  child  forget  this  preliminary  advice.  These 
contents  I  was  going  on  to  describe  in  detail ;  but 
on  second  thought  I  forbear,  for  fear  that  the  de- 
scription might  be  as  tedious  to  my  readers  as  the 
study  of  them  was  to  me.  Suffice  it  to  say,  there 


AS    IT   WAS.  29 

was  talk  about  vowels  and  consonants,  diphthongs 
and  triphthongs,  monosyllables  and  polysyllables, 
orthography  and  punctuation,  and  even  about 
geography,  all  which  was  about  as  intelligible  to 
us,  who  were  obliged  to  commit  it  to  memory  year 
after  year,  as  the  fee-faw-fum  uttered  by  the  giant 
in  one  of  our  story-books. 

Perry's  spelling-book,  as  it  was  in  those  days,  at 
least,  is  now  out  of  use.  It  is  no  where  to  be 
found  except  in  fragments  in  some  dark  corner  of  a 
country  cupboard  or  garret.  All  vestiges  of  it  will 
soon  disappear  for  ever.  What  will  the  rising 
generations  do,  into  what  wilds  of  barbarism  will 
they  wander,  into  what  pits  of  ignorance  fall,  with- 
out the  aid  of  the  Only  Sure  Guide  to  the  English 
tongue  ? 


3* 


30  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


CHAPTER    IV. 

FIRST    WINTER    AT    SCHOOL. 

How  I  longed  for  the  winter  school  to  begin,  to 
.which  I  looked  forward  as  a  relief  from  my  do- 
nothing  days,  and  as  a  renewal,  in  part  at  least,  of 
the  soft  and  glowing  pleasures  of  the  past  summer! 
But  the  schoolmaster,  the  thought  of  him  was  a 
fearful  looking-for  of  frowns  and  ferulings.  Had  I 
not  heard  our  Ben  tell  of  the  direful  punishments 
of  the  winter  school ;  of  the  tingling  hand,  black 
and  blue  with  twenty  strokes,  and  not  to  be  closed 
for  a  fortnight  from  soreness  ?  Did  not  the  minister 
and  the  schoolmaster  of  the  preceding  winter  visit 
together  at  our  house,  one  evening,  and  did  I  not 
think  the  schoolmaster  far  the  more  awful  man  of 
the  two  ?  The  minister  took  me  in  his  lap,  gave 
me  a  kiss,  and  told  me  about  his  own  little  Charley 
at  home,  whom  I  must  come  and  see ;  and  he  set 
me  down  with  the  impression  that  he  was  not  half 
so  terrible  as  I  had  thought  him.  But  the  school- 
master condescended  to  no  words  with  me.  He 
was  as  stiff  and  unstooping  as  the  long  kitchen  fire- 
shotfel,  and  as  solemn  of  face  as  a  cloudy  fast-day. 
A  trifling  incident  happened  which  increased  my 
dread,  and  darkened  my  remembrance  of  him  by 


AS   IT   WAS.  31 

another  shade.  I  had  slily  crept  to  the  table  on 
which  stood  the  hats  of  our  visitors,  and  in  childish 
curiosity  had  first  got  hold  of  a  glove,  then  a  letter, 
which  reposed  in  the  crown  of  the  magisterial  head- 
covering.  The"  owner's  eye  suddenly  caught  me  at 
the  mischief,  and  he  gave  me  a  look  and  a  shake  of 
his  upper  extremity,  so  full  of  "  Let  it  alone  or  I 
will  flog  you"  in  their  meaning,  that  I  was  struck 
motionless  for  an  hour  with  fright,  and  had  hard 
work  to  dam  up,  with  all  the  strength  of  my  quiver- 
ing lips,  a  choking  baby  cry.  Thenceforth,  school- 
masters to  my  timid  heart  were  of  all  men  the  most 
to  be  dreaded. 

The  winter  at  length  came,  and  the  first  day  of 
the  school  was  fixed  and  made  known,  and  the 
longed-for  morning  finally  arrived.  With  hoping, 
yet  fearing  heart,  I  was  led  by  Ben  to  school.  But 
my  fears  respecting  the  teacher  were  not  realized 
that  winter.  He  had  nothing  particularly  remark- 
able about  him  to  my  little  mind.  He  had  his 
hands  too  full  of  the  great  things  of  the  great 
scholars  to  take  much  notice  of  me,  excepting  to 
hear  me  read  my  Abs  four  times  a  day.  This 
exercise  he  went  through  like  a  great  machine,  and 
I  like  a  little  one  ;  so  monotonous  was  the  hum- 
drum and  regular  the  recurrence  of  ab,  eb,  ib,  ob,  ub, 
&c.,  from  day  to  day,  and  week  to  week.  To  recur 
to  the  metaphor  of  a  ladder  by  which  progress  in 
learning  is  so  often  illustrated,  I  was  all  summer  on 
the  lowest  round,  as  it  were,  lifting  first  one  foot 
and  then  the  other,  still  putting  it  down  in  the  same 


32  THE    DISTRICT   SCHOOL 

place,  without  going  any  higher;  and  all  winter, 
while  at  school,  I  was  as  wearily  tap-tapping  it  on 
the  second  step,  with  the  additional  drawback  of 
not  having  Mary  Smith's  sweet  manners  to  win  me 
up  to  the  stand,  help  me  cheerfully  through  the 
task,  and  set  me  down  again,  pleased  with  her,  if 
with  nothing  else. 

There  was  one  circumstance,  however,  in  the 
daily  routine,  which  was  a  matter  of  some  little 
excitement  arid  pleasure.  I  was  put  into  a  class. 
Truly  my  littleness,  feelingly,  if  not  actually  and 
visibly,  enlarged  itself,  when  I  was  called  out  with 
Sam  Allen,  Henry  Green,  and  Susan  Clark,  to  take 
our  stand  on  the  floor  as  the  sixth  class.  I  marched 
up  with  the  tread  of  a  soldier;  and,  thinks  I,  "Who 
has  a  better  right  to  be  at  the  head  than  myself? " 
so  the  head  I  took,  as  stiff  and  as  straight  as  a  cob. 
My  voice,  too,  if  it  lost  none  of  its  treble,  was 
pitched  a  key  louder,  as  a — b  ab  rang  through  the 
realm.  And  when  we  had  finished,  I  looked  up 
among  the  large  scholars,  as'I  strutted  to  my  seat, 
with  the  thought,  "  I  am  almost  as  big  as  you  now," 
puffing  out  my  tiny  soul.  Now,  moreover,  I  held 
the  book  in  my  own  hand,  and  kept  the  place  with 
my  own  finger,  instead  of  standing  like  a  very  little 
boy,  with  my  hands  at  my  side,  following  with  my 
eye  the  point  of  the  mistress's  scissors. 

There  was  one  terror  at  this  winter  school  which 
I  must  not  omit  in  this  chronicle  of  my  childhood. 
Tt  arose  from  the  circumstance  of  meeting  so  many 
faces  which  I  had  never  seen  before,  or  at  least  had 


AS    IT    WAS. 


never  seen  crowded'together  in  one  body.  All  the 
great  boys  and  girls,  who  had  been  kept  at  home 
during  the  summer,  now  left  axes  and  shovels, 
needles  and  spinning-wheels,  and  poured  inlo  the 
winter  school.  There  they  sat,  side  by  side,  head 
after  head,  row  above  row.  For  this  I  did  not 
care ;  but  every  time  the  master  spoke  to  me  for 
any  little  misdemeanor,  it  seemed  as  if  all  turned 
their  eyes  on  my  timid  self,  and  I  felt  petrified  by 
the  gaze.  But  this  simultaneous  and  concentrated 
eye-shot  was  the  most  distressing  when  I  happened 
late,  and  was  obliged  to  go  in  after  the  school  were 
all  seated  in  front  of  my  advance.  Those  forty — I 
should  say  eighty  eyes  (for  most  of  them  had  two 
apiece,)  glancing  up  from  their  books  as  I  opened 
the  door,  were  as  much  of  a  terror  to  me  as  so  many 
deadly  gun-muzzles  would  be  to  a  raw  military 
recruit.  I  tottered  into  the  room  and  toward  my 
seat  with  a  palsying  dismay,  as  if  every  one  was 
aiming  an  eye  for  my  destruction. 

The  severest  duty  I  was  ever  called  to  perform 
was  sitting  on  that  little  front  seat,  at  my  first 
winter  school.  My  lesson  in  the  Abs  conveyed  no 
ideas,  excited  no  interest,  and,  of  course,  occupied 
but  very  little  of  my  time.  There  was  nothing 
before  me  on  which  to  lean  my  head,  or  lay  my 
arms,  but  my  own  knees.  I  could  not  lie  down  to 
drowse,  as  in  summer,  for  want  of  room  on  the 
crowded  seat.  How  my  limbs  ached  for  the  free- 
dom and  activity  of  play  !  It  sometimes  seemed  as 
if  a  drubbing  from  the  master,  or  a  kick  across  the 
school-house,. would  have  been  a  pleasant  relief. 


34  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

But  these  bonds  upon  my  limbs  were  not  all.  I 
had  trials  by  fire  in  addition.  Every  cold  forenoon, 
the  old  fire-place,  wide  and  deep,  was  kept  a  roaring 
furnace  of  flame,  for  the  benefit  of  blue  noses, 
chattering  jaws,  and  aching  toes,  in  the  more  distant 
regions.  The  end  of  my  seat,  just  opposite  the 
chimney,  was  oozy  with  melted  pitch,  and  some- 
times almost  smoked  with  combustion.  Judge, 
then,  of  what  living  flesh  had  to  bear.  It  was  a 
toil  to  exist.  I  truly  ate  the  bread  of  instruction, 
or  rather  nibbled  at  the  crust  of  it,  in  the  sweat  of 
my  face. 

But  the  pleasures  and  the  pains  of  this  season  at 
school  did  not  continue  long.  After  a  few  weeks, 
the  storms  and  drifts  of  midwinter  kept  me  mostly 
at  home.  Henry  Allen  was  in  the  same  predica- 
ment. As  for  Susan  Clark,  she  did  not  go  at  all 
after  the  first  three  or  four  days.  In  consequence 
of  the  sudden  change  from  roasting  within  doors  to 
freezing  without,  she  took  a  violent  cold,  and  was 
sick  all  winter. 


35 


CHAPTER    V. 

SECOND    SUMMER  —  MARY    SMITH    AGAIN. 

THE  next  summer,  Mary  Smith  was  the  mistress 
again.  She  gave  such  admirable  satisfaction,  that 
there  was  but  one  unanimous  wish  that  she  should 
be  re-engaged.  Unanimous,  I  said,  but  it  was  not 
quite  so  ;  for  Capt.  Clark,  who  lived  close  by  the 
school-house,  preferred  somebody  else,  no  matter 
whom,  fit  or  not  fit,  who  should  board  with  him,  as 
the  teachers  usually  did.  But  Mary  would  board 
with  her  aunt  Carter,  as  before.  Then  Mr.  Patch's 
family  grumbled  riot  a  little,  and  tried  to  find  fault ; 
for  they  wanted  their  Polly  should  keep  the  school 
and  board  at  home,  and  help  her  mother  night  and 
morning,  and  save  the  pay  for  the  board  to  boot. 
Otherwise  Polly  must  go  into  a  distant  district,  to 
less  advantage  to  ihe  family  purse.  Mrs.  Patch 
was  heard  to  guess  that  "  Polly  could  keep  as  good 
a  school  as  any  body  else.  Her  edication  had  cost 
enough  any  how.  She  had  been  to  our  school 
summer  after  summer,  and  winter  after  winter,  ever 
since  she  was  a  little  gal,  and  had  then  been  to  the 
'cademy  three  months  besides.  She  had  moreover 
taught  three  summers  already,  and  was  twenty-one  j 
whereas  Mary  Smith  had  taught  but  two,  and  was 


36  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

only  nineteen."  But  the  committee  had  not  such 
confidence  in  the  experienced  Polly's  qualifications. 
All  who  had  been  to  school  with  her  knew  that  her 
head  was  dough,  if  ever  head  was.  And  all  who 
had  observed  her  school-keeping  career  (she  never 
kept  but  once  in  the  same  place)  pretty  soon  came 
to  the  same  conclusion,  notwithstanding  her  loaf  of 
brains  had  been  three  months  in  that  intellectual 
oven  called  by  her  mother  the  'cademy. 

So  Mary  Smith  kept  the  school,  and  I  had 
another  delightful  summer  under  her  care  and  in- 
struction. I  was  four  years  and  a  half  old  now, 
and  had  grown  an  inch.  I  was  no  tiny,  whining, 
half-scared  baby,  as  in  the  first  summer.  No,  in- 
deed ;  I  had  been  to  the  winter  school,  had  read  in 
a  class,  and  had  stood  up  at  the  fire  with  the  great 
boys,  had  seen  a  snow-ball  fight,  and  had  been  ac- 
cidentally hit  once  by  the  icy  missile  of  big-fisted 
Joe  Swagger. 

I  looked  down  upon  two  or  three  fresh,  slobbering 
abecedarians  with  a  pride  of  superiority,  greater 
perhaps  than  I  ever  felt  again.  We  read  not  in  ab, 
eb,  &c.,  but  in  words  that,  meant  something  ;  and, 
before  the  close  of  the  summer,  in  what  were  called 
the  "  Reading  Lessons,"  that  is,  little  words  ar- 
ranged in  little  sentences. 

Mary  was  the  same  sweet  angel  this  season  as 
the  last.  I  did  not,  of  course,  need  her  soothing 
and  smiling  assiduity  as  before  ;  but  still  she  was  a 
mother  to  me  in  tenderness.  She  was  forced  to 
caution  us  younglings  pretty  often  ;  yet  it  was  done 


AS    IT    WAS.  37 

with  such  sweetness,  that  a  caution  from  her  was 
as  effectual  as  would  be  a  frown,  and  indeed  a  blow, 
from  many  others.  At  least,  so  it  was  with  me. 
She  used  to  resort  to  various  severities  with  the 
refractory  and  idle,  and  in  one  instance  she  used  the 
ferule  ;  but  we  all  knew,  and  the  culprit  knew,  that 
it  was  well  deserved. 

At  the  close  of  the  school,  there  was  a  deeper 
sadness  in  our  hearts  than  on  the  last  summer's 
closing  day.  She  had  told  us  that  she  should  never 

- 

be  our  teacher  again, — should  probably  never  meet 
many  of  us  again  in  this  world.  She  gave  us  much 
parting  advice  about  loving  and  obeying  God,  and 
loving  and  doing  good  to  every  body.  She  shed 
tears  as  she  talked  to  us,  and  that  made  our  own 
flow  still  more.  When  we  were  dismissed,  the 
customary  and  giddy  laugh  was  not  heard.  Many 
were  sobbing  with  grief,  and  even  the  least  sensi- 
tive were  softened  and  subdued  to  an  unusual  quiet- 
ness. 

The  last  time  I  ever  saw  Mary  was  Sunday 
evening,  on  my  way  home  from  meeting.  As  we 
passed  Mr.  Carter's,  she  came  out  to  the  chaise 
where  I  sat  between  my  parents,  to  bid  us  good-by. 
Oh,  that  last  kiss,  that  last  smile,  and  those  last 
tones  !  Never  shall  I  forget  them,  so  long  as  I  have 
power  to  remember  or  capacity  to  love.  The  next 
morning  she  left  for  her  native  town  ;  and  before 
another  summer,  she  was  married.  As  Mr.  Carter 
soon  moved  from  our  neighborhood,  the  dear  in- 
structress never  visited  it  again. 


38  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THIRD    SUMMER MEHITABEL    HOLT    AND    OTHER 

INSTRUCTRESSES. 

THIS  summer,  a  person  named  Meh.itabel  Holt 
was  our  teacher.  It  was  with  eager  delight  that  I 
set  out  for  school  on  the  first  morning.  The  dull 
months  that  intervened  between  the  winter  school 
and  the  summer  had  seemed  longer  than  ever.  I 
longed  for  the  companionship  and  the  sports  of 
school.  I  had  heard  nothing  about  the  mistress, 
excepting  that  she  was  an  experienced  and  approved 
one.  On  my  way,  the  image  of  something  like 
Mary  Smith  arose  to  my  imagination ;  a  young 
lady  with  pleasant  face  and  voice,  and  a  winning 
gentleness  of  manner.  This  was  natural ;  for 
Mary  was  the  only  mistress  I  had  ever  been  to,  and 
in  fact  the  only  one  I  had  ever  seen,  who  made  any 
impression  on  my  mind  in  her  school-keeping 
capacity.  What,  then,  was  my  surprise  when  my 
eyes  first  fell  on  Mehitabel  Holt !  I  shall  not 
describe  how  nature  had  made  her,  or  time  had 
altered  her.  Engaging  manners  and  loveliness  of 
character  do  not  depend  on  the  freshness  of  youth, 
fineness  of  complexion,  or  symmetry  of  form.  She 
was  not  lovely  ;  her  first  appearance  indicated  this ; 


AS    IT    WAS.  OW 

for  the  disposition  will  generally  speak  through  the 
face.  Subsequent  experience  proved  Mehitabel  to 
differ  from  the  dear  Mary  as  much  as  all  that  is  sour 
does  from  the  quintessence  of  sweetness.  She  had 
beeu  well-looking,  indeed  rather  beautiful  once,  I 
have  heard  ;  but,  if  so,  the  acidity  of  her  temper 
had  diffused  itself  through,  and  lamentably  corroded 
this  valued  gift  of  nature. 

She  kept  order  ;  for  her  punishments  were  horri- 
ble, especially  to  us  little  ones.  She  dungeoned  us 
in  that  windowless  closet  just  for  a  whisper.  She 
tied  us  to  her  chair-post  for  an  hour,  because  sport- 
ive nature  tempted  our  fingers  and  toes  into  some- 
thing like  play.  If  we  were  restless  on  our  seats, 
wearied  of  our  posture,  fretted  by  the  heat,  or  sick 
of  the  unintelligible  lesson,  a  twist  of  the  ear,  or  a 
snap  on  the  head  from  her  thimbled  finger,  reminded 
us  that  sitting  perfectly  still  was  the  most  important 
virtue  of  a  little  boy  in  school.  Our  forenoon  and 
afternoon  recess  was  allowed  to  be  five  minutes 
only  ;  and,  even  during  that  time,  our  voices  must 
not  rise  above  the  tone  of  quiet  conversation.  That 
delightful  exercise  of  juvenile  lungs,  hallooing,  was 
a  capital  crime.  Our  noonings,  in  which  we  used 
formerly  to  rejoice  in  the  utmost  freedom  of  legs 
and  lungs,  were  now  like  the  noonings  of  the 
Sabbath,  in  the  restraints  imposed  upon  us.  As 
Mehitabel  boarded  at  Captain  Clark's,  any  ranging 
in  the  fields,  or  raising  of  the  voice,  was  easily 
detected  by  her  watchful  senses. 

As  the  prevalent  idea  in  those  days  respecting  a 


40  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

good  school  was,  that  there  should  be  no  more 
sound  and  motion  than  was  absolutely  necessary, 
Mehitabel  was  on  the  whole,  popular  with  the 
parents.  She  kept  us  still,  and  forced  us  to  get  our 
lessons  •  and  that  was  something  uncommon  in  a 
mistress.  So  she  was  employed  the  next  summer 
to  keep  our  childhood  in  bondage.  Had  her  strict 
rules  been  enforced  by  any  thing  resembling  Mary 
Smith's  sweet  and  sympathetic  disposition  and 
manners,  they  would  have  been  endurable.  But, 
as  it  was,  our  schooling  those  two  summers  was  a 
pain  to  the  body,  a  weariness  to  the  mind,  and  a 
disgust  to  the  heart. 

I  shall  not  devote  a  separate  chapter  to  all  rny 
summer  teachers.  What  more  I  may  have  to  say 
of  them  I  shall  put  into  this.  They  were  none  of 
them  like  Mehitabel  in  severity,  nor  all  of  them 
equal  to  her  in  usefulness,  and  none  of  them  equal 
in  any  respect  to  Mary  Smith.  Some  were  very 
young,  scarcely  sixteen,  and  as  unfit  to  manage 
that  "  harp  of  thousand  strings,"  the  human  mind, 
as  is  the  unskilled  and  changeful  wind  to  manage 
any  musical  instrument  by  which  science  and  taste 
delights  the  ear.  Some  kept  tolerable  order;  others 
made  the  attempt,  but  did  not  succeed  ;  others  did 
not  even  make  the  attempt.  All  would  doubtless 
have  done  better,  had  they  been  properly  educated 
and  disciplined  themselves. 

After  I  was  ten  years  old,  I  ceased  to  attend  the 
summer  school  except  in  foul  weather,  as  in  fair  I 
was  wanted  at  home  on  the  farm.  These  scatter- 


AS    IT    WAS.  41 

ing  days,  I  and  others  of  nearly  the  same  age  were 
sent  to  school  by  our  parents,  in  hopes  that  we 
should  get  at  least  a  snatch  of  knowledge.  But 
this  rainy-day  schooling  was  nothing  but  vanity  to 
us,  and  vexation  of  spirit  to  the  mistress.  We 
could  read  and  spell  better  than  the  younger  and 
regular  scholars,  and  were  puffed  up  with  our  own 
superiority.  We  showed  our  contempt  for  the  mis- 
tress and  her  orders,  by  doing  mischief  ourselves, 
and  leading  others  into  temptation. 
-  If  she  had  the  boldness  to  apply  the  ferule,  we 
laughed  in  her  face,  unless  her  blows  were  laid  on 
with  something  like  masculine  strength.  In  case 
of  such  severity,  we  waited  for  our  revenge  till  the 
close  of  the  school  for  the  day,  when  we  took  the 
liberty  to  let  saucy  words  reach  her  ear,  especially 
if  the  next  day  was  likely  to  be  fair,  and  we  of 
course  were  not  to  re-appear  in  her  realm  till  foul 
weather  again. 


4» 


42  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


CHAPTER    VII. 

LITTLE  BOOKS  PRESENTED  THE  LAST  DAY  OF  THE    SCHOOL. 

THERE  was  one  circumstance  connected  with  the 
'history  of  summer  schools  of  so  great  importance 
to  little  folks,  that  it  must  not  be  omitted.  It  was 
this.  The  mistress  felt  obliged  to  give  little  books 
to  all  her  pupils  on  the  closing  day  of  her  school. 
Otherwise  she  would  be  thought  stingy,  and  half 
the  good  she  had  done  during  the  summer  would 
be  canceled  by  the  omission  of  the  expected  dona- 
tions. If  she  had  the  least  generosity,  or  hoped  to 
be  remembered  with  any  respect  and  affection,  she 
must  devote  a  week's  wages,  and  perhaps  more,  to 
the  purchase  of  these  little  toy-books.  My  first 
present,  of  course,  was  from  Mary  Smith.  It  was 
not  a  little  book  the  first  summer,  but  it  was  some- 
thing that  pleased  me  more. 

The  last  day  of  the  school  had  arrived.  All,  as 
I  have  somewhere  said  before,  were  sad  that  it  was 
now  to  finish.  My  only  solace  was  that  I  should 
now  have  a  little  book,  for  I  was  not  unmoved  in 
the  general  expectation  that  prevailed.  After  the 
reading  and  spelling,  and  all  the  usual  exercises  of 
the  school,  were  over,  Mary  took  from  her  desk  a 
pile  of  the  glittering  little  things  we  were  looking 


AS    IT    WAS.  43 

for.  What  beautiful  covers, — red,  yellow,  blue, 
green  !  Oh  !  not  the  first  buds  of  spring,  not  the 
first  rose  of  summer,  not  the  rising  moon,  nor  gor- 
geous rainbow,  seemed  so  charming  as  that  first  pile 
of  books  now  spread  out  on  her  lap,  as  she  sat  in 
her  chair  in  front  of  the  school.  All  eyes  were 
now  centered  on  the  outspread  treasures.  Admira- 
tion and  expectation  were  depicted  on  every  face. 
Pleasure  g&wed  in  every  heart ;  for  the  worst,  as 
well  as  the  beet,,  calculated  with  certainty  on  a 
present.  What  a  beautifier  of  the  countenance 
agreeable  emotions  are!  The  "most  ugly  visaged 
were  beautiful  now  with  the  radiance  of  keen 
anticipation.  The  scholars  were  called  out  one  by 
one  to  receive  the  dazzling  gifts,  beginning  at  the 
oldest.  I,  being  an  abecedarian,  must  wait  till  the 
last ;  but  as  I  knew  that  my  turn  would  surely  come 
in  due  order,  I  was  tolerably  patient.  But  what 
was  my  disappointment,  my  exceeding  bitterness  of 
grief,  when  the  last  book  on  Mary's  lap  was  given 
away,  and  my  name  not  yet  called  !  Every  one 
present  had  received,  except  myself  and  two  others 
of  the  ABC  rank.  I  felt  the  tears  starting  to  my 
eyes  ;  my  lips  were  drawn  to  their  closest  pucker  to 
hold  in  my  emotions  from  audible  outcry.  I  heard 
my  fellow-sufferer  at  my  side  draw  long  and  heavy 
breaths,  the  usual  preliminaries  to  the  bursting  out 
of  grief.  This  feeling,  however,  was  but  momen- 
tary;  for  Mary  immediately  said,  "Charles  and 
Henry  and  Susan,  you  may  now  all  come  to  me 
together :  "  at  the  same  time  her  hand  was  put  into 


44  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

her  work-bag.  We  were  at  her  side  in  an  instant, 
and  in  that  time  she  held  in  her  hand — what  ?  Not 
three  little  picture-books,  but  what  was  to  us  a  sur- 
prising novelty,  viz.,  three  little  birds  wrought  from 
sugar  by  the  confectioner's  art.  I  had  never  seen 
or  heard  or  dreamed  of  such  a  thing.  What  a 
revulsion  of  delighted  feeling  now  swelled  my  little 
bosom  !  "  If  I  should  give  you  books,"  said  Mary, 
"  you  could  not  read  them  at  present ;  so  I  have  got 
for  you  what  you  will  like  better  perhaps,  and  there 
will  be  time  enough  for  you  to  have  books,  when 
you  shall  be  able*  to  read  them.  So,  take  these 
little  birds,  and  see  how  long  you  can  keep  them." 
We  were  perfectly  satisfied,  and  even  felt  ourselves 
distinguished  above  the  rest.  My  bird  was  more  to 
me  than  all  the  songsters  in  the  air,  although  it 
could  not  fly,  or  sing,  or  open  its  mouth.  I  kept  it 
for  years,  until  by  accident  it  was  crushed  to  pieces, 
and  was  no  longer  a  bird. 

But  Susan  Clark — I  was  provoked  at  her.  Her 
bird  was  nothing  to  her  but  a  piece  of  pepperminted 
sugar,  and  not  a  keepsake  from  Mary  Smith.  She 
had  not  left  the  school-house  before  she  had  nibbled 
off  its  bill.  But  her  mother  was  always  tickling 
her  palate  with  sugar-plums,  raisins,  cookies,  and 
such  like,  which  the  rest  of  us  were  not  accustomed 
to  ;  and  she  had  no  idea  that  the  sweet  little  sugar 
bird  was  made,  at  least  was  given,  for  the  sake  of 
her  heart,  rathier  than  her  palaje. 

The  next  summer,  my  present  was  the  "Death 
and  Burial  of  Cock  Robin."  This  was  from  the 


AS    IT    WAS.  45 

dearly  loved  Mary,  too.  I  could  then  do  something 
more  than  look  at  the  pictures.  I  could  read  the 
tragic  history  which  was  told  in  verse  below  the 
pictured  representations  of  the  mournful  drama. 
How  I  used  to  gaze  and  wonder  at  what  I  saw  in 
that  little  book  !  Could  it  be  that  all  this  really 
took  place ;  that  the  sparrow  really  did  do  the  mur- 
derous deed  with  his  bow  and  his  arrow  ?  I  never 
knew  before  that  birds  had  such  things.  Then 
there  was  the  fish  with  his  dish,  the  rook  with  his 
book,  the  owl  with  his  shovel,  &c.  Yet,  if  it  were 
not  all  true,  why  should  it  be  so  pictured  and  rela- 
ted in  the  book?  I  had  the  impression  that  every 
thing  that  was  printed  in  a  book  was  surely  true  ; 
and  as  no  one  thought  to  explain  to  me  the  nature 
of  a  fable,  I  went  on  puzzled  and  wondering,  till 
progressive  reason  at  length  divined  its  meaning. 
But  Cock  Robin,  with  its  red  cover  and  gilded 
edges — I  have  it  now.  It  is  the  first  little  book  I 
ever  received,  and  it  was  from  Mary  Smith;  and,  as 
it  is  the  only  tangible  memento  of  her  goodness 
that  I  possess,  I  shall  keep  it  as  long  as  I  can. 

I  had  a  similar  present  each  successive  season,  so 
long  as  I  regularly  attended  the  summer  school. 
What  marvels  did  they  contain  !  How  curiosity 
and  wonder  feasted  on  their  contents  !  They  were 
mostly  about  giants,  fairies,  witches,  and  ghosts. 
By  this  kind  of  reading,  superstition  was  trained  up 
to  a  monstrous  growth  ;  and,  as  courage  could  not 
thrive  in  its  cold  and  gloomy  shadow,  it  was  a 
sickly  shoot  for  years.  Giants,  fairies,  witches,  and 


46  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

ghosts,  were  ready  to  pounce  upon  me  from  every 
dark  corner  in  the  day  time,  and  from  all  around  in 
the  night,  if  I  happened  to  be  alone.  I  trembled  to 
go  to  bed  alone  for  years ;  and  I  was  often  almost 
paralyzed  with  horror  when  I  chanced  to  wake  in 
the  stillness  of  midnight,  and  my  ever-busy  fancy 
presented  the  grim  and  grinning  images  with  which 
I  supposed  darkness  to  be  peopled. 

I  wish  I  had  all  those  little  books  now.  I  would 
keep  them  as  long  as  I  live,  and  at  death  would 
bequeath  them  to  a  national  Lyceum,  or  some  other 
institution,  to  be  kept  as  a  schoolmaster  keeps  a 
pupil's  first  writing,  as  a  specimen,  or  a  mark  to 
show  what  improvement  has  been  made.  Indeed, 
if  improvement  has  been  made  in  any-thing,  it  has 
been  in  respect  to  children's  books.  When  I  com- 
pare the  world  of  fact  in  which  the  "  Little  Philoso- 
phers" of  the  present  day  live,  observe,  and  enjoy, 
with  the  visionary  regions  where  I  wandered,  won- 
dered, believed,  and  trembled,  I  almost  wish  to  be 
a  child  again,  to  know  the  pleasure  of  having 
earliest  curiosity  fed  with  fact,  instead  of  fiction  and 
folly,  and  to  know  so  much  about  the  great  world, 
with  so  young  a  mind. 


AS    IT    WAS.  47 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

GRAMMAR — YOUNG     LADY'S     ACCIDENCE — MURRAY — PARS- 
ING  POPE'S    ESSAY. 

ON  my  fifth  summer,  at  the  age  of  seven  and  a 
half,  I  commenced  the  study  of  grammar.  The 
book  generally  used  in  our  school  by  beginners, 
was  called  the  Young  Lady's  Accidence.  I  had 
the  honor  of  a  new  one.  The  Young  Lady's  Ac- 
cidence !  How  often  have  I  gazed  on  that  last 
word,  and  wondered  what  it  meant  !  Even  now, 
I  cannot  define  it,  though,  of  course,  I  have  a  guess 
at  its  meaning.  Let  me  turn  this  very  minute  to 
that  oracle  of  definitions,  the  venerable  Webster  : 
"A  small  book  containing  the  rudiments  of  gram- 
mar." That  is  it,  then.  But  what  an  intelligible 
and  appropriate  term  for  a  little  child's  book !  The 
mysterious  title,  however,  was  most  appropriate  to 
the  contents  of  the  volume  ;  for  they  were  all  mys- 
terious, and  that  for  years,  to  my  poor  understand- 
ing. 

Well,  my  first  lesson  was  to  get  the  Parts  of 
Speech,  as  they  are  called.  What  a  grand  achieve- 
ment to  engrave  on  my  memory  these  ten  separate 
and  strange  words  !  With  what  ardor  I  took  my 
lesson  from  the  mistress,  and  trudged  to  my  seat ! 


48  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

It  was  a  ne'w  study,  and  it  was  the  first  day  of  the 
school,  moreover,  before  the  bashfulness  occasioned 
by  a  strange  teacher  had  subsided,  and  before  the 
spirit  of  play  had  been  excited.  So  there  was 
nothing  at  the  moment  to  divert  me  from  the  lofty 
enterprise. 

Reader,  let  your  mind's  eye  peep  into  that  old 
school-house.  See  that  little  boy  in  the  second 
high  seat  from  the  front,  in  home-made  and  home- 
dyed  pea-green*  cotton  jacket  and  trowsers,  with  a 
clean  Monday  morning  collar  turned  out  from  his 
neck.  His  new  book  is  before  him  on  the  bench, 
kept  open  by  his  left  hand.  His  right  supports  his 
head  on  its  palm,  with  the  corresponding  elbow 
pressed  on  the  bench.  His  lips  move,  but  at  first 
very  slowly.  He  goes  over  the  whole  lesson  in  a 
low  whisper.  He  now  looks  off  his  book,  and  pro- 
nounces two  or  three  of  the  first, — article,  noun, 
pronoun ;  then  jast  glances  at  the  page,  and  goes 
on  with  two  or  three  more.  He  at  length  repeats 
several  words  without  looking.  Finally,  he  goes 
through  the  long  catalogue,  with  his  eye  fastened 
on  vacancy.  At  length,  how  his  lips  flutter,  and 
you  hear  the  parts  of  speech  whizzing  from  his 
tongue  like  feathered  arrows  !  A  good  simile  that. 
Parts  of  speech — they  are  indeed  arrows  of  thought, 
though  as  yet  armed  with  no  point,  and  shot  at  no 
mark. 

There,  the  rigmarole  is  accomplished.  He  starts 
up,  and  is  at  the  mistress's  side  in  a  moment. 

*  This  was  the  name  given  by  the  housewives  to  the  color. 


AS    IT    WAS.  49 

"  Will  you  hear  my  lesson,  ma'am  ?  "  As  she  takes 
the  book,  he  looks  directly  in  her  face,  and  repeats 
the  afore-mentioned  words  loudly  and  distinctly,  as 
if  there  were  no  fear  of  failure.  He  has  got  as  far 
as  the  adverb  ;  but  now  he  hesitates,  his  eye  drops, 
his  lips  are  open  ready  for  utterance,  but  the  word 
does  not  come.  He  shuts  them,  he  presses  them 
hard  together,  he  puts  his  finger  to  them,  and  there 
is  a  painful  hiatus  in  his  recitation,  a  disconnection, 
an  anti  to  the  very  word  he  is  after.  "  Conjunc- 
tion," says  the  mistress.  The  little  hand  leaves  the 
lips,  at  the  same  time  that  an  involuntary  "  Oh !" 
bursts  out  from  them.  He  lifts  his  head  and  his 
eye,  and  repeats  with  spirit  the  delinquent  word, 
and  goes  on  without  hesitation  to  the  end  of  the 
lesson.  "Very  well,"  says  the  teacher,  or  the  hear- 
er of  the  school j  for  she  rather  listened  to  than  in- 
structed her  pupils.  "  Get  so  far  for  the  next 
lesson."  The  child  bows,  whirls  on  his  heel,  and 
trips  to  his  seat,  mightily  satisfied  excepting  with 
that  one  failure  of  memory,  when  that  thundering 
word,  conjunction,  refused  to  come  at  his  will. 
But  that  word  he  never  forgot  again.  The  failure 
fastened  it  in  his  memory  for  ever.  This  pea-green 
boy  was  myself,  the  present  historian  of  the  scene. 
My  next  lesson  lagged  a  little  ;  my  third  seemed 
quite  dull ;  my  fourth  I  was  two  days  in  getting. 
At  the  end  of  the  week,  I  thought  that  I  could  get 
along  through  the  world  very  well  without  gram- 
mar, as  my  grandfather  had  done  before  me.  But 
my  mistress  did  not  agree  with  me,  and  I  was  forced 
5 


50  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

to  go  on.  I  contrived,  however,  to  make  easy  work 
of  the  study.  I  got  frequent,  but  very  short  les- 
sons, only  a  single  sentence  at  a  time.  This  was 
easily  committed  to  memory,  and  would  stay  on 
till  I  could  run  up  and  toss  it  off  in  recitation,  after 
which  it  did  not  trouble  me  more.  The  recollec- 
tion of  it  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  little  boy  lugging  in 
wood,  a  stick  at  a  time.  My  teacher  was  so  igno- 
rant of  the  philosophy  of  mind,  that  she  did  not 
know  that  this  was  not  as  good  a  way  as  any;  and 
indeed,  she  praised  me  for  my  smartness.  The 
consequence  was,  that,  after  I  had  been  through  the 
book,  I  could  scarcely  have  repeated  ten  lines  of  it, 
excepting  the  very  first  and  the  very  last  lessons. 
Had  it  been  ideas  instead  of  words  that  had  thus 
escaped  from  my  mind,  the  case  would  have  been 
different.  As  it  was,  the  only  matter  of  regret  was, 
that  I  had  been  forming  a  bad  habit,  and  had  im- 
bibed an  erroneous  notion,  to  wit,  that  lessons  were 
to  be  learned  simply  to  be  recited. 

The  next  winter  this  Accidence  was  committed, 
not  to  memory,  but  to  oblivion  ;  for,  on  presenting  it 
to  the  master  the  first  day  of  the  school,  he  told  me 
it  was  old-fashioned  and  out  of  date,  and  I  must 
have  Murray's  Abridgment.  So  Murray  was  pur- 
chased, and  I  commenced  the  study  of  grammar 
again,  excited  by  the  novelty  of  a  new  and  clean 
and  larger  book.  But  this  soon  became  even  more 
dull  and  dry  than  its  predecessor ;  for  it  was  more 
than  twice  the  size,  and  the  end  of  it  was  at  the 
most  discouraging  distance  of  months,  if  not  of 


AS    IT    WAS.  51 

years.  I  got  only  half  way  through  the  verb  this 
winter.  The  next  summer  I  began  the  book  again, 
and  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  account  of  the  parts 
of  speech.  The  winter  after,  I  went  over  the  same 
ground  again,  and  got  through  the  rules  of  syntax, 
and  felt  that  I  had  accomplished  a  great  work.  The 
next  summer  I  reviewed  the  whole  grammar  ;  for 
the  mistress  thought  it  necessary  to  have  "  its  most 
practical  and  important  parts  firmly  fixed  in  the 
memory,  before  attempting  the  higher  exercises  of 
the  study."  On  the  third  winter,  I  began  to  apply 
my  supposed  knowledge  in  the  process  of  passing, 
as  it  was  termed  by  the  master.  The  very  pronun- 
ciation of  this  word  shows  how  little  the  teacher 
exercised  the  power  of  independent  thought.  He 
had  been  accustomed  to  hear  parse  called  pass  ; 
and,  though  the  least  reflection  would  have  fold 
him  it  was  not  correct,  that  reflection  came  not,  and 
for  years  the  grammarians  of  our  district  school 
passed.  However,  it  was  rightly  so  called.  It 
was  passing,  as  said  exercise  was  performed  ;  pass- 
ing over,  by,  around,  away,  from  the  science  of 
grammar,  without  coming  near  it,  or  at  least  with- 
out entering  into  it  with  much  understanding  of  its 
nature.  Mode,  tense,  case,  government  and  agree- 
ment, were  ever  flying  from  our  tongues,  to  be 
sure ;  but  their  meaning  was  as  much  a  mystery  as 
the  hocus  pocus  of  a  juggler. 

At  first  we  parsed  in  simple  prose,  but  soon  en- 
tered on  poetry.  Poetry — a  thing  which  to  our  ap- 
prehension differed  from  prose  in  this  only,  that 


52  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

each  line  began  with  a  capital  letter,  and  ended 
usually  with  a  word  sounding  like  another  word  at 
the  end  of  the  adjoining  line.  But,  unskilled  as  we 
all  generally  were  in  the  art  of  parsing,  some  of  us 
came  to  think  ourselves  wonderfully  acute  and  dex- 
terous nevertheless.  When  we  perceived  the  mas- 
ter himself  to  be  in  doubt  and  perplexity,  then  we 
felt  ourselves  on  a  level  with  him,  and  ventured  to 
oppose  our  guess  to  his.  And  if  he  appeared  a 
dunce  extraordinary,  as  was  sometimes  the  case,  we 
used  to  put  ourselves  into  the  potential  mood  pretty 
often,  as  we  knew  that  our  teacher  could  never  as- 
sume the  imperative  on  this  subject. 

The  fact  is,  neither  we  nor  the  teacher  entered 
into  the  writer's  meaning.  The  general  plan  of  the 
work  was  not  surveyed,  nor  the  particular  sense  of 
separate  passages  examined.  We  could  not  do  it, 
perhaps,  from  the  want  of  maturity  of  mind ;  the 
teacher  did  not,  because  he  had  never  been  accus- 
tomed to  any  thing  of  the  kind  in  his  own  educa- 
tion ;  and  it  never  occurred  to  him  that  he  could 
deviate  from  the  track,  or  improve  upon  the  meth- 
ods of  those  who  taught  him.  Pope's  Essay  on 
Man  was  the  parsing  manual  used  by  the  most  ad- 
vanced. No  wonder,  then,  that  pupil  and  peda- 
gogue so  often  got  bewildered  and  lost  in  a  world 
of  thought  like  this  ;  for,  however  well  ordered  a 
creation  it  might  be,  it  was  scarcely  better  than  a 
chaos  to  them. 

In  closing,  I  ought  to  remark,  that  all  our  teach- 
ers were  not  thus  ignorant  of  grammar,  although 


AS    IT    WAS.  53 

they  did  not  perhaps  take  the  best  way  to  teach  it. 
In  speaking  thus  of  this  department  of  study,  and 
also  of  others,  I  have  reference  to  the  more  general 
character  of  schoolmasters  and  schools.  * 


5* 


64  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE     PARTICULAR     MASTER VARIOUS     METHODS    OF    PUN- 
ISHMENT. 

I  HAVE  given  some  account  of  my  first  winter  at 
school.  Of  my  second,  third,  and  fourth,  I  have 
nothing  of  importance  to  say.  The  routine  was 
the  same  in  each.  The  teachers  were  remarkable 
for  nothing  in  particular :  if  they  were,  I  have  too 
indistinct  a  remembrance  of  their  characters  to  por- 
tray them  now  ;  so  I  will  pass  them  by,  and  de- 
scribe the  teacher  of  my  fifth. 

He  was  called  the  particular  master.  The 
scholars  in  speaking  of  him,  would  say,  "  He  is  so 
particular."  The  first  morning  of  the  school,  he 
read  us  a  long  list  of  regulations  to  be  observed  in 
school,  and  out.  "  There  are  more  rules  than  you 
could  shake  a  stick  at  before  your  arm  would 
ache,"  said  some  one.  "  And  if  the  master  should 
shake  a  stick  at  every  one  who  should  disobey 
them,  he  would  not  find  time  to  do  much  else," 
said  another.  Indeed,  it  proved  to  be  so.  Half  the 
time  was  spent  in  calling  up  scholars  for  little  mis- 
demeanors, trying  to  make  them  confess  their  faults, 
and  promise  stricter  obedience,  or  in  devising  pun- 
ishments and  inflicting  them.  Almost  every  meth- 


AS    IT    WAS.  55 

od  was  tried  that  was  ever  suggested  to  the  brain  of 
pedagogue.  Some  were  feruled  on  the  hand  ; 
some  were  whipped  with  a  rod  on  the  back  ;  some 
were  compelled  to  hold  out,  at  arm's  length,  the 
largest  book  which  could  be  found,  or  a  great  lead- 
en inkstand,  till  muscle  and  nerve,  bone  and  mar- 
row, were  tortured  with  the  continued  exertion.  If 
the  arm  bent  or  inclined  from  the  horizontal  level, 
it  was  forced  back  again  by  a  knock  of  the  ruler  on 
the  elbow.  I  well  recollect  that  one  poor  fellow 
forgot  his  suffering  by  fainting  quite  away.  This 
lingering  punishment  was  more  befitting  the  ven- 
geance of  a  savage,  than  the  corrective  efforts  of  a 
teacher  of  the  young  in  civilized  life. 

He  had  recourse  to  another  method,  almost,  per- 
haps quite,  as  barbarous.  It  was  standing  in  a 
stooping  posture,  with  the  finger  on  the  head  of  a 
nail  in  the  floor.  It  was  a  position  not  particularly 
favorable  to  health  of  body  or  soundness  of  mind  ; 
the  head  being  brought  about  as  low  as  the  knees, 
the  blood  rushing  to  it,  and  pressing  unnaturally  on 
the  veins,  often  caused  a  dull  pain,  and  a  stagger- 
ing dizziness.  That  man's  judgment  or  mercy 
must  have  been  topsy-turvy  also,  who  first  set  the 
example  of  such  an  infliction  on  those  whose  pro- 
gress in  knowledge  depended  somewhat  on  their 
being  kept  right  end  upward. 

The  above  punishments  were  sometimes  retlder- 
ed  doubly  painful  by  their  taking  place  directly  in 
front  of  the  enormous  fire,  so  that  the  pitiable  cul- 
prit was  roasted  as  well  as  racked.  Another  mode 


56  THE   DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

of  punishment — an  anti-whispering  process — was 
setting  the  jaws  at  a  painful  distance  apart,  by  in- 
serting a  chip  perpendicularly  between  the-  teeth. 
Then  we  occasionally  had  our  hair  pulled,  our 
noses  tweaked,  our  ears  pinched  and  boxed,  or 
snapped,  perhaps,  with  India-rubber;  this  last  the 
perfection  of  ear-tingling  operations.  There  were 
minor  penalties,  moreover,  for  minor  faults.  The 
uneasy  urchins  were  clapped  into  the  closet,  thrust 
under  the  desk,  or  perched  on  its  top.  Boys  were 
made  to  sit  in  the  girls'  seats,  amusing  the  school 
with  their  grinning  awkwardness  ;  and  girls  were 
obliged  to  sit  on  the  masculine  side  of  the  aisle, 
with  crimsoned  necks,  and  faces  buried  in  their 
aprons. 

But  I  have  dwelt  long  enough  on  the  various 
penalties  of  the  numerous  violations  of  Master  Par- 
ticular's many  orders.  After  all,  he  did  not  keep 
an  orderly  school.  The  cause  of  the  mischief  was, 
he  was  variable.  He  wanted  that  persevering  firm- 
ness and  uniformity  which  alone  can  insure  suc- 
cess. He  had  so  many  regulations,  that  he  could 
not  stop  at  all  times  to  notice  the  transgressions  of 
them.  The  scholars,  not  knowing  with  certainty 
what  to  expect,  dared  to  run  the  risk  of  disobe- 
dience. The  consequence  of  this  procedure  on  the 
part  of  the  ruler  and  the  ruled  was,  that  the  school 
became  uncommonly  riotous  before  the  close  of  the 
season.  The  larger  scholars  soon  broke  over  all  re- 
straint ;  but  the  little  ones  were  narrowly  watched 
and  restricted  somewhat  longer.  But  these  gradu- 


AS    IT    WAS.  57 

ally  grew  unmindful  of  the  unstable  authority,  and 
finally  contemned  it  with  almost  insolent  effrontery, 
unless  the  master's  temper-kindled  eye  was  fixed 
directly  and  menacingly  upon  them.  Thus  the 
many  regulations  were  like  so  many  cobwebs, 
through  which  the  great  flies  would  break  at  once, 
and  so  tear  and  disorder  the  net  that  it  would  not 
hold  even  the  little  ones,  or  at  all  answer  the  purpose 
for  which  it  was  spun. 

I  would  not  have  it  understood  that  this  master 
was  singular  in  his  punishments;  for  such  methods 
of  correcting  offenders  have  been  in  use  time  out  of 
mind.  He  was  distinguished  only  for  resorting  to 
them  more  frequently  than  any  other  instructor 
within  my  own  observation.  The  truth  is,  that  it 
seemed  to  be  the  prevailing  opinion  both  among 
teachers  and  parents,  that  boys  and  girls  would 
play  and  be  mischievous  at  any  rate,  and  that  con- 
sequently masters  must  punish  in  some  way  or 
other.  It  was  a  matter  of  course  ;  nothing  better 
was  expected. 


58  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


CHAPTER    X. 

HOW    THEY     USED     TO     READ     IN    THE    OLD     SCHOOL-HOUSE 
IN    DISTRICT    NO.    V. 

IN  this  description  of  the  District  School,  as  it 
was,  that  frequent  and  important  exercise,  Reading, 
must  not  be  omitted, — Reading  as  it  was.  Ad- 
vance, then,  ye  readers  of  the  Old  School-house, 
and  let  us  witness  your  performances. 

We  will  suppose  it  is  the  first  day  of  the  school. 
"  Come  and  read,"  says  the  mistress  to  a  little  flaxen 
headed  creature  of  doubtful  gender  ;  for  the  child 
is  in  petticoats,  and  sits  on  the  female  side,  as  close 
as  possible  to  a  guardian  sister.  But  then  those 
coarser  features,  tanned  complexion,  and  close- 
clipped  hair,  with  other  minutiae  of  aspect,  are 
somewhat  contradictory  to  the  feminine  dress. 
"  Come  and  read."  It  is  the  first  time  that  this  he 
or  she  was  ever  inside  of  ^a  school-house,  and  in  the 
presence  of  a  school-ma'am,  according  to  recollec- 
tion, and  the  order  is  heard  with  shrinking  timidity. 
But  the  sister  whispers  an  encouraging  word,  and 
helps  "  tot  "  down  from  the  seat,  who  creeps  out 
into  the  aisle,  and  hesitates  along  down  to  the 
teacher,  biting  his  fingers,  or  scratching  his  head, 
perhaps  both,  to  relieve  the  embarrassment  of  the 


AS    IT    WAS.  59 

novel  situation.  "  What  is  your  name,  dear  ? " 
"  Tliolomon  Icherthon,"  lisps  the  now-discovered  he, 
in  a  phlegm-choked  voice,  scarce  above  a  whisper. 
"  Put  your  hands  down  by  your  side,  Solomon, 
and  make  a  bow."  He  obeys,  if  a  short  and  hasty 
jerk  of  the  head  is  a  bow.  The  alphabetical  page 
of  the  spelling-book  is  presented,  and  he  is  asked, 
"  What's  that  ?  "  But  he  cannot  tell.  He  is  -but 
two  years  and  a  half  old,  and  has  been  sent  to 
school  to  relieve  his  mother  from  trouble,  rather 
than  to  learn.  No  one  at  home  has  yet  shown  or 
named  a  letter  to  him.  He  has  never  had  even  that 
celebrated  character,  round  O,  pointed  out  to  his 
notice.  It  was  an  older  beginner,  most  probably, 
who,  being  asked  a  similar  question  about  the  first 
letter  of  the  alphabet,  replied,  "  I  know  him  by 
sight,  but  can't  tell  him  by  name."  But  our  name- 
sake of  the  wise  man  does  not  know  the  gentleman - 
even  by  sight,  nor  any  of  his  twenty-five  com- 
panions. 

Solomon  Richardson  has  at  length  said  A,  B,  C, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  He  has  read.  "That's 
a  nice  boy  ;  make  another  bow,  and  go  to  your 
seat."  He  gives  another  jerk  of  the  head,  and 
whirls  on  his  heel,  and  trots  back  to  his  seat,  meet- 
ing the  congratulatory  smile  of  his  sister  with  a 
satisfied  grin,  which,  put  into  language  would  be, 
"  There,  I've  read,  ha'nt  I  ?  " 

The  little  chit,  at  first  so  timid,  and  almost  in- 
audible in  enunciation,  in  a  few  days  becomes 
accustomed  to  the  place  and  the  exercise  ;  and,  in 


69  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

obedience  to  the  "  Speak  up  loud,  that's  a  good 
boy,"  he  soon  pipes  off  A-er,  B-er,  C-er,  &c.,  with 
a  far-ringing  shrillness,  that  vies  even  with  chanti- 
cleer himself.  Solomon  went  all  the  pleasant  days 
of  the  first  summer,  and  nearly  every  day  of  the 
next,  before  he  knew  all  the  letters  by  sight,  or 
could  call  them  by  name.  Strange  that  it  should 
take  so  long  to  become  acquainted  with  these 
twenty-six  characters,  when,  in  a  month's  time,  the 
same  child  becomes  familiar  with  the  forms  and  the 
names  of  hundreds  of  objects  in  nature  around,  or 
in  use  about  his  father's  house,  shop,  or  farm ! 
Not  so  very  strange  either,  if  we  only  reflect  a 
moment.  Take  a  child  into  a  party  of  twenty-six 
persons,  all  strangers,  and  lead  him  from  one  to  the 
other  as  fast  as  his  little  feet  can  patter,  telling  him 
their  respective  names,  all  in  less  than  ten  minutes  ; 
do  this  four  times  a  day  even,  and  you  would  not 
be  surprised  if  he  should  be  weeks  at  least,  if  not 
months,  in  learning  to  designate  them  all  by  their 
names.  Is  it  any  matter  of  surprise,  then,  that  the 
child  should  be  so  long  in  becoming  acquainted 
with  the  alphabetical  party,  when  he  is  introduced 
to  them  precisely  in  the  manner  above  described  ? 
Then,  these  are  not  of  different  heights,  complex- 
ions, dresses,  motions,  and  tones  of  voice,  as  a  living 
company  have.  But  there  they  stand  in  an  unal- 
terable line,  all  in  the  same  complexions  and  dress; 
all  just  so  tall,  just  so  motionless  and  mute  and 
uninteresting,  and,  of  course,  the  most  unremem- 
berable  figures  in  the  world.  No  wonder  that  some 


AS    IT    WAS.  61 

should  go  to  school,  and  "sit  on  a  bench,  and  say 
A  B  C,"  as  a  little  girl  said,  for  a  whole  year,  and 
still  find  themselves  strangers  to  some  of  the  sable 
company,  even  then.  Our  little  reader  is  permitted 
at  length  to  turn  a  leaf,  and  he  finds  himself  in  the 
region  of  the  Abs, — an  expanse  of  little  syllables, 
making  me,  who  am  given  to  comparisons,  think 
of  an  extensive  plain  whereon  there  is  no  tree  or 
shrub  or  plant,  or  anything  else  inviting  to  the  eye, 
and  nothing  but  little  stones,  stones,  stones,  all 
about  the  same  size.  And  what  must  the  poor 
little  learner  do  here  ?  Why,  he  must  hop  from, 
cobble  to  cobble,  if  I  may  so  call  ab,  eb,  ib,  as  fast 
as  he  possibly  can,  naming  each  one,  after  the  voice 
of  the  teacher,  as  he  hurries  along.  And  this  must  / 
be  kept  up  until  he  can  denominate  each  lifeless-  / 
and  uninteresting  object  on  the  face  of  the  desert. 

After  more  or  less  months,  the  weary  novice 
ceases  to  be  an  Ab-ite.  He  is  next  put  into  whole 
words  of  one  syllable,  arranged  in  columns.  The 
first  word  we  read  in  Perry  that  conveyed  anything 
like  an  idea,  was  the  first  one  in  the  first  column, — 
the  word  ache :  ay,  we  did  not  easily  forget  what 
this  meant,  when  once  informed  ;  the  corresponding 
idea,  or  rather  feeling,  was  so  often  in  our  con- 
sciousness. Ache, — a  very  appropriate  term  with 
which  to  begin  a  course  of  education  so  abounding 
in  pains  of  body  and  of  mind. 

After  five  pages  of  this  perpendicular  reading,  if 
I  may  so  call  it,  we  entered  on  the  horizontal,  that 
is,  on  words  arranged  in  sentences  and  paragraphs. 
6 


faS  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

* 

This  was  reading  in  good  earnest,  as  grown-up 
folks  did,  and  something  with  which  tiny  child- 
hood would  be  very  naturally  puffed  up.  "  Easy 
Lessons "  was  the  title  of  about  a  dozen  separate 
chapters,  scattered  at  intervals  among  the  numerous 
spelling  columns,  like  brambly  openings  here  and 
there  amid  the  tall  forest.  Easy  lessons,  because 
they  consisted  mostly  of  little  monosyllabic  words, 
easy  to  be  pronounced.  But  they  were  not  easy  as 
it  regards  being  understood.  They  were  made  up 
of  abstract  moral  sentences,  presenting  but  a  very 
faint  meaning  to  the  child,  if  any  at  all.  Their  par- 
ticular application  to  his  own  conduct  he  would  not 
perceive,  of  course,  without  help ;  and  this  it 
scarcely  ever  entered  the  head  or  the  heart  of  the 
teacher  to  afford. 

In  the  course  of  summers,  how  many  I  forget, 
we  arrived  at  the  most  manly  and  dignified  reading 
the  illustrious  Perry  had  prepared  for  us.  It  was 
entitled  "Moral  Tales  and  Fables."  In  these  latter, 
beasts  and  birds  talked  like  men ;  and  strange  sort 
of  folks,  called  Jupiter,  Mercury,  and  Juno,  were 
pictured  as  sitting  up  in  the  clouds,  and  talking 
with  men  and  animals  on  earth,  or  as  down  among 
them  doing  very  unearthly  things.  To  quote  lan- 
guage in  common  use,  we  kind  o'  believed  it  all  to 
be  true,  and  yet  we  kind  o'  didn't.  As  for  the 
"  moral "  at  the  end,  teachers  never  dreamed  of 
attracting  our  attention  to  it.  Indeed,  we  had  no 
other  idea  of  all  these  Easy  Lessons,  Tales,  and 
Fables,  than  that  they  were  to  be  syllabled  from 


AS    IT    WAS.  63 

the  tongue  in  the  task  of  reading.  That  they 
were  to  sink  into  the  heart,  and  make  us  better  in. 
life,  never  occurred  to  our  simple  understandings. 

Among  all  the  rest  were  five  pieces  of  poetry, — 
charming  stuff  to  read ;  the  words  would  come 
along  one  after  another  so  easily,  and  the  lines 
would  jingle  so  pleasantly  together  at  the  end, 
tickling  the  ear  like  two  beads  in  a  rattle.  "  Oh ! 
give  us  poetry  to  read,  of  all  things,"  we  thought. 

We  generally  passed  directly  from  the  spelling- 
book  to  the  reading-book  of  the  first  class,  although 
we  were  ranked  the  second  class  still.  Or  perhaps 
we  took  a  book  which  had  been  formerly  used  by 
the  first  class  ;  for  a  new  reading-book  was  gen- 
erally introduced  once  in  a  few  years  in  compliance 
with  the  earnest  recommendation  of  the  temporary 
teacher.  While  the  first  class  were  in  Scott's  Les- 
sons, we  of  the  second  were  pursuing  their  tracks, 
not  altogether  understandingly,  through  Adams's 
Understanding  Reader.  When  a  new  master  per- 
suaded them  into  Murray,  then  we  were  admitted 
into  Scott. 

The  principal  requisites  in  reading,  in  these  days, 
were  to  read  fast,  mind  the  "stops  and  marks,"  and 
speak  up  loud.  As  for  suiting  the  tone  to  the  mean- 
ing, no  such  thing  was  dreamed  of,  in  our  school  at 
least.  As  much  emphasis  was  laid  on  an  insignifi- 
cant of  or  and  as  on  the  most  important  word  in 
the  piece.  But  no  wonder  we  did  not  know  how 
to  vary  our  tones,  for  we  did  not  always  know  the 
meaning  of  the  words,  or  enter  into  the  general/ 


64  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

spirit  of  the  composition.  This  was  very  frequently, 
indeed  almost  always,  the  case  with  the  majority 
even  of  the  first  class.  Parliamentary  prose  and 
Miltonic  verse  were  just  about  as  good  as  Greek  for 
the,  purpose  of  modulating  the  voice  according  to 
meaning.  It  scarcely  ever  entered  the  heads  of  our 
teachers  to  question  us  about  the  ideas  hidden  in 
the  great,  long  words  and  spacious  sentences.  It  is 
possible  that  they  did  not  always  discover  it  them- 
selves. "Speak  up  there,  and  not  read  like  a  mouse 
in  a  cheese;  and  mind  your  stops," — such  were  the 
principal  directions  respecting  the  important  art  of 
elocution.  Important  it  was  most  certainly  consid- 
ered; for  each  class  must  read  twice  in  the  fore- 
noon, and  the  same  in  the  afternoon,  from  a  quarter 
to  half  an  hour  each  time,  according  to  the  size  of 
the  class.  Had  they  read  but  once  or  twice,  and 
but  little  at  a  time,  and  this  with  nice  and  very 
profitable  attention  to  tone  and  sense,  parents  would 
have  thought  the  master  most  miserably  deficient 
in  duty,  and  their  children  cheated  out  of  their 
rights,  notwithstanding  the  time  thus  saved  should 
be  most  assiduously  devoted  to  other  all-important 
branches  of  education. 

It  ought  not  to  be  omitted,  that  the  Bible,  partic- 
ularly the  New  Testament,  was  the  reading  twice  a 
day,  generally,  for  all  the  classes  adequate  to  words 
of  more  than  one  syllable.  It  was  the  only  read- 
ing of  several  of  the  younger  classes  under  some 
teachers.  On  this  practice  I  shall  make  but  a  sin- 
gle remark.  As  far  as  my  own  experience  and 


AS    IT   WAS.  65 

observation  extended,  reverence  for  .the  sacred 
volume  was  not  deepened  by  this  constant  but 
exceedingly  careless  use. 

But  what  a  long  and  perhaps  tedious  chapter  on 
this  subject  of  reading !  I  had  no  idea  of  it  when 
I  began.  Yet  I  have  not  put  down  the  half  that  I 
could.  These  early  impressions,  when  once  started 
from  their  recesses,  how  they  will  teem  forth ! 


66  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


CHAPTER    XI. 

HOW    THEY    USED    TO    SPELL. 

THERE,  the  class  have  read;  but  they  have 
something  else  to  do  before  they  take  their  seats. 
"Shut  your  books,"  says  he  who  has  been  hearing 
them  read.  What  makes  this  row  of  little  counte- 
nances brighten  up  so  suddenly,  especially  the 
upper  end  of  it  ?  What  wooden  faces  and  leaden 
-eyes,  two  minutes  ago  !  The  reading  was  nothing 
to  them, — those  select  sentences  and  maxims  in 
Perry's  spelling-book  which  are  tucked  in  between 
the  fables.  It  is  all  as  dull  as  a  dirge  to  those  life- 
loving  boys  and  girls.  They  almost  drowsed  while 
they  stood  up  in  their  places.  But  they  are  fully 
awake  now.  They  are  going  to  spell.  But  this 
in  itself  is  the  driest  exercise  to  prepare  for,  and 
the  driest  to  perform,  of  the  whole  round.  The 
child  cares  no  more  in  his  heart  about  the 
arrangement  of  vowels  and  consonants  in  the 
orthography  of  words,  than  he  does  how  many 
chips  lie  one  above  another  at  the  school-house 
wood-pile.  But  he  does  care,  whether  he  is  at  the 
head  or  foot  of  his  class;  whether  the  money  dan- 
gles from  his  own  neck  or  another's.  This  is 
the  secret  of  the  interest  in  spelling.  Emulation 


AS    IT   WAS.  67 

is  awakened,  ambition  roused.  There  is  something 
like  the  tug  of  strength  in  the  wrestle,  something  of 
the  alternation  of  hope  and  fear  in  a  game  of 
chance.  There  has  been  a  special  preparation  for 
the  trial.  Observe  this  class  any  day,  half  an  hour 
before  they  are  called  up  to  read.  What  a  flitting 
from  top  to  bottom  of  the  spelling  column,  and 
what  a  flutter  of  lips  and  hissing  of  utterance! 
Now  the  eye  twinkles  on  the  page  to  catch  a  word, 
and  now  it  is  fixed  on  the  empty  air,  while  the 
orthography  is  syllabled  over  and  over  again  in 
mind,  until  at  length  it  is  syllabled  on  the  memory. 
But  the  time  of  trial  has  come;  they  have  only  to 
read  first.  "  The  third  class  may  come  and  read." 
"O  dear,  I  haven't  got  my  spelling  lesson,"  mutters 
Charlotte  to  herself.  She  has  just  begun  the  art  of 
writing  this  winter,  and  she  lingered  a  little  too  long 
at  her  hooks  and  trammels.  The  lesson  seems 
to  her  to  have  as  many  again  hard  words  in  it  as 
common.  What  a  flutter  she  is  in!  She  got  up 
above  George  in  the  forenoon,  and  she  would  not 
get  down  again  for  any  thing.  She  is  as  slow  in 
coming  from  her  seat  as  she  possibly  can  be  and 
keep  moving.  She  makes  a  chink  in  her  book  with 
her  finger,  and  every  now  and  then,  during  the  read- 
ing exercise,  steals  a  glance  at  a  difficult  word. 

But  the  reading  is  over,  and  what  a  brightening 
up,  as  was  said  before,  with  the  exception,  perhaps, 
of  two  or  three  idle  or  stupid  boys  at  that  less  hon- 
orable extremity  of  the  class  called  the  foot !  That 
boy  at  the  head — no,  it  was  a  boy  ;  but  Harriet  has 


68  THE    DISTRICT   SCHOOL 

at  length  got  above  him ;  and,  when  girls  once  get 
to  the  head,  get  them  away  from  it  if  you  can. 
Once  put  the  "  pride  of  place  "  into  their  hearts, 
and  how  they  will  queen  it !  Then  they  are  more 
sensitive  regarding  any  thing  that  might  lower 
them  in  the  eyes  of  others,  and  seem  the  least  like 
disgrace.  I  have  known  a  little  girl  to  cry  the  half 
of  one  day,  and  look  melancholy  the  whole  of  the 
next,  on  losing  her  place  at  the  head.  Girls  are 
more  likely  to  arrive  at  and  keep  the  first  place  in 
the  class,  in  consequence  of  a  little  more  help  from 
mother  nature  than  boys  get.  I  believe  that  they 
generally  have  a  memory  more  fitted  for  catching 
and  holding  words  and  other  signs  addressed  to  the 
eye,  than  the  other  sex.  That  girl  at  the  head  has 
studied  her  spelling  lesson,  until  she  is  as  confident 
of  every  word  as  the  unerring  Perry  himself.  She 
can  spell  every  word  in  the  column,  in  the  order  it 
stands,  without  the  master's  "  putting  it  out,"  she 
has  been  over  it  so  many  times.  "  Now,  Mr. 
James,  get  up  again  if  you  can,"  thinks  Harriet. 
I  pity  you,  poor  girl ;  for  James  has  an  ally  that 
will  blow  over  your  proud  castle  in  the  air.  Old 
Boreas,  the  king  of  the  winds,  will  order  out  a 
snow-storm  by  and  by,  to  block  up  the  roads,  so 
that  none  but  booted  and  weather-proof  males  can 
get  to  school ;  and  you,  Miss,  must  lose  a  day  or 
two,  arid  then  find  yourself  at  the  foot  with  those 
blockhead  boys  who  always  abide  there.  But  let  it 
not  be  thought  that  all  those  foot  lads  are  deficient 
in  intellect.  Look  at  them  when  the  master's  back 


AS    IT    WAS.  O9 

is  turned,  and  you  will  see  mischievous  ingenuity 
enough  to  convince  you  that  they  might  surpass 
even  James  and  Harriet,  had  some  other  faculties 
been  called  into  exercise  besides  the  mere  memory 
of  verbalities. 

V^The  most  extraordinary  spelling,  and  indeed 
reading  machine,  in  our  school,  was  a  boy  whom  I 
shall  call  Memorus  Wordwell.  He  was  mighty  and 
wonderful  in  the  acquisition  and  remembrance  of 
words, — of  signs  without  the  ideas  signified.  The 
alphabet  he  acquired  at  home  before  he  was  two 
years  old.  What  exultation  of  parents,  what  ex- 
clamation from  admiring  visitors  !  "  There  was 
never  any  thing  like  it."  He  had  almost  accom- 
plished his  Abs  before  he  was  thought  old  enough 
for  school.  At  an  earlier  age  than  usual,  however, 
he  was  sent ;  and  then  he  went  from  Ache  to  Abom- 
ination in  half  the  summers  and  winters  it  took  the 
rest  of  us  to  go  over  the  same  space.  Astonishing 
how  quickly  he  mastered  column  after  column,  sec- 
tion after  section,  of  obstinate  orthographies.  Those 
martial  terms  I  have  just  used,  together  with  our 
hero's  celerity,  put  me  in  mind  of  Csesar.  So  I 
will  quote  him.  Memorus  might  have  said  in  re- 
spect to  the  host  of  the  spelling-book,  "  I  came,  I 
saw,  I  conquered."  He  generally  stood  at  the  head 
of  a  class,  each  one  of  whom  was  two  years  his 
elder.  Poor  creatures  !  they  studied  hard,  some  of 
them,  but  it  did  no  good  :  Memorus  Wordwell  was 
born  to  be  above  them,  as  some  men  are  said  to 
have  been  "  born  to  command."  At  the  public 


70  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

examination  of  his  first  winter,  the  people  of  the 
district,  and  even  the  minister,  thought  it  marvel- 
ous that  such  monstrous  great  words  should  be 
mastered  by  "  such  a  leetle  mite  of  a  boy  !"  Me- 
morus  was  mighty  also  in  saying  those  after  spell- 
ing matters — the  Key,  the  Abbreviations,  the  Punc- 
tuation, &c.  These  things  were  deemed  of  great 
account  to  be  laid  up  in  remembrance,  although 
they  were  all  very  imperfectly  understood,  and 
some  of  them  not  understood  at  all. 

Punctuation — how  many  hours,  days,  and  even 
weeks,  have  I  tugged  away  to  lift,  as  it  were,  to 
roll  up  into  the  store-house  of  my  memory,  the 
many  long,  heavy  sentences  comprehended  under 
this  title !  Only  survey  (we  use  this  word  when 
speaking  of  considerable  space  and  bulk) — only 
survey  the  first  sentence,  a  transcript  of  which  I 
will  endeavor  to  locate  in  these  narrow  bounds.  I 
would  have  my  readers  of  the  rising  generation 
know  what  mighty  labors  we  little  creatures  of  five, 
six,  and  seven  years  old  were  set  to  perform  : — 

"  Punctuation  is  the  art  of  pointing,  or  of  divid- 
ing a  discourse  into  periods  by  points,  express- 
ing the  pauses  to  be  made  in  the  reading  thereof, 
and  regulating  the  cadence  or  elevation  of  the 
voice." 

There,  I  have  labored  weeks  on  that  ;  for  I 
always  had  the  lamentable  defect  of  mind  not  to  be 
able  to  commit  to  memory  what  I  did  not  under- 
stand. My  teachers  never  aided  me  with  the  least 
explanation  of  the  above-copied  sentence,  nor  of 


AS    IT    WAS.  71 

other  reading  of  a  similar  character,  which  was 
likewise  to  be  committed  to  memory.  But  this  and 
all  was  nothing,  as  it  were,  to  Memorus  Wordwell. 
He  was  a  very  Hercules  in  this  wilderness  of 
words. 

.Master  Wordwell  was  a  remarkable  reader  too. 
He  could  rattle  off  a  word  as  extensive  as  the  name 
of  a  Russian  noble,  when  he  was  but  five  years  old, 
as  easily  as  the  schoolmaster  himself.  "  He  can 
read  in  the  hardest  chapters  of  the  Testament  as 
fast  agin  as  I  can,"  said  his  mother.  "  I  never  did 
see  nothin  beat  it,"  exclaimed  his  father;  "he 
speaks  up  as  loud  as  a  minister."  But  I  have  said 
enough  about  this  prodigy.  I  have  said  thus  much, 
because,  although  he  'Was  thought  so  surpassingly 
bright,  he  was  the  most  decided  ninny  in  the 
school.  The  fact  is,  he  did  not  know  what  the 
sounds  he  uttered  meant.  It  never  entered  his 
head,  nor  the  heads  of  his  parents  and  most  of  his 
teachers,  that  words  and  sentences  were  written, 
and  should  be  read,  only  to  be  understood.  He 
lost  some  of  his  reputation,  however,  when  he  grew 
up  towards  twenty-one,  and  it  was  found  that 
numbers,  in  more  senses  than  one,  were  far  above 
him  in  arithmetic. 

One   little    anecdote  about   Memorus 
before  we  let  him  go,  and  this  long  chapter  siiall  be 
no  longer. 

It  happened  one  day  that  the  "  cut  and  split " 
for  the  fire  fell  short,  and  Jonas  Patch  was  out 
wielding  the  axe  in  school  time.  He  had  been  at 


72  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

work  about  half  an  hour,  when  Memorus,  who  was 
perceived  to  have  less  to  do  than  the  rest,  was  sent 
out  to  take  his  place.  He  was  about  ten  years  old, 
and  four  years  younger  than  Jonas.  "  Memorus, 
you  may  go  out  and  spell  Jonas."  Our  hero  did  not 
think  of  the  Yankee  sense  in  which  the  master 
used  the  word  spell :  indeed  he  had  never  attached 
but  one  meaning  to  it,  whenever  it  was  used  with 
reference  to  himself.  He  supposed  the  master  was 
granting  him  a  ride  extraordinary  on  his  favorite 
hobby.  So  he  put  his  spelling-book  under  his  arm, 
and  was  out  at  the  wood-pile  with  the  speed  of  a 
boy  rushing  to  play. 

"  Ye  got  yer  spellin  lesson,  Jonas  ?  "  was  his  first 
salutation.  "  Have  n't  looked  at  it  yit,"  was  the 
reply.  "  I  mean  to  cut  up  this  plaguy  great  log, 
spellin  or  no  spellin,  before  I  go  in.  I  had  as  lieve 
keep  warm  here  choppin  wood,  as  freeze  up  there 
in  that  tarnal  cold  back  seat."  "  Well,  the  master 
sent  me  out  to  hear  you  spell."  "Did  he?  well, 
put  out  the  words,  and  I'll  spell."  Memorus  being 
so  distinguished  a  speller,  Jonas  did  not  doubt  but 
that  he  was  really  sent  out  on  this  errand.  So  our 
deputy  spelling-master  mounted  the  top  of  the 
wood-pile,  just  in  front  of  Jonas,  to  put  out  words 
to  his  temporary  pupil,  who  still  kept  on  putting 
out  chips. 

"  Do  you  know  where  the  lesson  begins,  Jonas  ?  " 
"No,  I  don't;  but  I  'spose  I  shall  find  out  now." 
"Well,  here  'tis."  (They  both  belonged  to  the 
same  class.)  "  Spell  A-bom-i-na-tion."  Jonas  spells. 


AS    IT    WAS.  73 

A-b-o-m  bom  a-bom  (in  the  mean  time  up  goes  the 
axe  high  in  air),  i  a-bom-i  (down  it  goes  again 
chuck  into  the  wood)  n-a  na  a-bom-i-na  (up  it  goes 
again)  t-i-o-n  tion,  a-bom-i-na-tion ;  chuck  the  axe 
goes  again,  and  at  the  same  time  out  flies  a  furious 
chip,  and  hits  Memorus  on  the  nose.  At  this  mo- 
ment the  master  appeared  just  at  the  corner  of  the 
school-house,  with  one  foot  still  on  the  threshold. 
"Jonas,  why  don't  you  come  in?  didn't  I  send, 
Memorus  out  to  spell  you?"  "Yes,  sir,  and  he 
has  been  spelling  me  ;  how  could  I  come  in  if  he 
spelt  me  here?"  At  this  the  master's  eye  caught 
Memorus  perched  up  on  the  top-stick,  with  his  book 
open  upon  his  lap,  rubbing  his  nose,  and  just  in  the 
act  of  putting  out  the  next  word  of  the  column. 
Ac-com-mo-da-tion,  pronounced  Memorus  in  a  bro- 
ken but  louder  voice  than  before  ;  for  he  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  master,  and  he  wished  to  let  him 
know  that  he  was  doing  his  duty.  This  was  too 
much  for  the  master's  gravity.  He  perceived  the 
mistake,  and,  without  saying  more,  wheeled  back 
into  the  school-room,  almost  bursting  with  the  most 
tumultuous  laugh  he  ever  tried  to  suppress.  The 
scholars  wondered  at  his  looks,  and  grinned  in. 
sympathy.  But  in  a  few  minutes  Jonas  came  in, 
followed  by  Memorus  with  his  spelling-book,  who 
exclaimed,  "  I  have  heard  him  spell  clean  through 
the  whole  lesson,  and  he  didn't  spell  hardly  none  of 
'em  right."  The  master  could  hold  in  no  longer,, 
and  the  scholars  perceived  the  blunder,  and  there' 
was  one  simultaneous  roar  from  pedagogue  and, 
7 


74  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

pupils;  the  scholars  laughing  twice  as  loud  and 
uproarously  in  consequence  of  being  permitted  to 
laugh  in  school-time,  and  to  do  it  with  the  accom- 
paniment of  the  master. 


AS    IT    WAS.  75 


CHAPTER    XII. 

MR.    SPOUTSOUND,    THE    SPEAKING    MASTER THE    EXHIBI- 
TION. 

Now  comes  winter  the  sixth,  of  my  district 
education.  Our  master  was  as  insignificant  a  per- 
sonage as  is  often  met  with  beyond  the  age  of 
twenty-one.  He  ought  to  have  been  pedagogue  in, 
that  land  of  littleness,  Lilliput.  Our  great  fellows 
of  the  back  seat  might  have  tossed  him  out  of  the 
window  from  the  palm  of  the  hand.  But  he  pos- 
sessed certain  qualifications,  and  pursued  such  a 
course  that  he  was  permitted  to  retain  the  magiste- 
rial seat  through  his  term,  and  indeed  was  quite 
popular  on  the  whole. 

He  was  as  remarkable  for  the  loudness  and  com- 
pass of  his  voice,  as  for  the  diminutiveness  of  his 
material  dimensions.  How  such  a  body  of  sound 
could  proceed  from  so  bodiless  an  existence,  was  a 
marvel.  It  seemed  as  unnatural  as  that  a  tremen- 
dous thunder-clap  should  burst  from  a  speck  of 
cloud  in  the  sky.  He  generally  sat  with  the  sing- 
ers on  the  Sabbath,  and  drowned  the  feebler  voices 
with  the  inundation  of  his  bass. 

But  it  was  not  with  his  tuneful  powers  alone, 
that  he  "astonished  the  natives."  He  was  imagined 


76  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

to  possess  great  gifts  of  oratory  likewise.  "  What 
a  pity  it  is  that  he  had  not  been  a  minister !  "  was 
said.  It  was  by  his  endowments  and  taste  in  this 
respect  that  he  made  himself  particularly  memora- 
ble in  our  school.  Mr.  Spoutsound  had  been  one 
quarter,  to  an  academy  where  declamation  was  a 
weekly  exercise.  Finding  in  this,  ample  scope  for 
his  vocal  extraordinariness  (a  long-winded  word,  to 
be  sure,  but  so  appropriate),  he  became  an  enthusi- 
astic votary  to  the  Ciceronian  art.  The  principal 
qualification  of  an  orator  in  his  view,  was  height, 
depth,  and  breadth  of  utterance, — quantity  of  sound. 
Of  course,  he  fancied  himself  a  very  lion  in  oratory. 
Indeed,  as  far  as  roaring  would  go,  he  was  a  lion. 
This  gentleman  introduced  declamation,  or  the  speak- 
ing of  pieces,  as  it  was  called,  into  our  school.  He 
considered  "speaking  of  the  utmost  consequence  in 
this  country,  as  any  boy  might  be  called  to  a  seat 
in  the  legislature,  perhaps,  in  the  course  of  things." 
It  was  a  novelty  to  the  scholars,  and  they  entered 
with  their  whole  souls  into  the  matter.  It  was  a 
pleasant  relief  to  the  dullness  of  the  old-fashioned 
routine. 

What  a  rummaging  of  books,  pamphlets,  and 
newspapers  now  took  place,  to  find  pieces  to  speak! 
The  American  Preceptor,  the  Columbian  Orator, 
the  Art  of  Reading,  Scott's  Elocution,  Webster's 
Third  Part,  and  I  know  not  how  many  other 
ancients,  were  taken  down  from  their  dusty  retire- 
ment at  home,  for  the  sake  of  the  specimens 
of  eloquence  they  afforded.  Those  pieces  were 


AS    IT    WAS.  77 

deemed  best  by  us  grandsons  of  the  Revolutionists, 
which  most  abounded  in  those  glorious  words, 
Freedom,  Liberty,  Independence,  and  other  spirit- 
kindling  names  and  phrases,  that  might  be  men- 
tioned. Another  recommendation  was  high-flown 
language,  and  especially  words  that  were  long  and 
sonorous,  such  as  would  roll  thunderingly  from  the 
tongue.  For,  like  our  district  professor,  we  had  the 
impression  that  noise  was  the  most  important  qual- 
ity in  eloquence.  The  first,  the  second,  and  the 
third  requisite  was  the  same ;  it  was  noise,  noise, 
noise.  Action,  however,  or  gesticulation,  was  not 
omitted.  This  was  considered  the  next  qualifica- 
tion of  a  good  orator.  So  there  was  the  most 
vehement  swinging  of  arms,  shaking  of  fists,  and 
waving  of  palms.  That  occasional  motion  of  the 
limb  and  force  of  voice,  called  emphasis,  was  not  a 
characteristic  of  our  eloquence,  or  rather  it  was  all 
emphasjs.  Our  utterance  was  something  like  the 
continuous  roar  of  a  swollen  brook  over  a  mill-dam, 
and  our  action  like  the  unintermitted  whirling  and 
clapping  of  adjacent  machinery. 

We  tried  our  talent  in  the  dramatic  way  like- 
wise. There  were  numerous  extracts  from  dramatic 
compositions  scattered  through  the  various  reading 
books  we  had  mustered.  These  dialogistic  perform- 
ances were  even  more  interesting  than  our  speech- 
ifying in  the  semblance  of  lawyers  and  legislators. 
We  more  easily  acquired  an  aptitude  for  this  exer- 
cise, as  it  was  somewhat  like  that  every-day  affair, 
conversation.  In  this  we  were  brought  face  to  face, 
7* 


78  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

voice  to  voice,  with  each  other,  and  our  social  sym- 
pathies were  kindled  into  glow.  We  talked  with, 
as  well  as  at,  folks.  Then  the  female  portion  of 
the  school  could  take  a  part  in  the  performance ; 
and  who  does  not  know  that  dialoguing,  as  well  as 
dancing,  has  twice  the  zest  with  a  female  partner  ? 
The  whole  school,  with  the  exception  of  the  very 
least  perhaps,  were  engaged,  indeed  absorbed,  in  this 
novel  branch  of  education  introduced  by  Mr.  Spout- 
^sound.  Some,  who  had  not  got  out  of  their  Abs, 
were  taught,  by  admiring  fathers  and  mothers  at 
home,  little  pieces  by  rote,  and  made  to  screech 
them  out  with  most  ear-splitting  execution.  One 
lad  in  this  way  committed  to  memory  that 
famous  piece  of  self-puffery  beginning  with  the 
lines, — 

"  You'd  scarce  expect  one  of  my  age 
To  speak  in  public  on  the  stage." 

Slemorus  Wordwell  committed  to  memory  and 
parroted  forth  that*famous  speech  of  Pitt,  in  which 
:he  so  eloquently  replies  to  the  charge  of  being  a 
young  man. 

Cicero  at  Athens  was  not  more  assiduous'  in 
seeking  the  "  immense  and  the  infinite  "  in  elo- 
quence, than  we  were  in  seeking  the  great  in 
speaking.  Besides  half  an  hour  of  daily  school- 
time  set  apart  for  the  exercise,  under  the  immediate 
direction  and  exemplification  of  the  master,  our 
noonings  were  devoted  to  the  same,  as  far  as  the 
young's  ruling  passion,  the  love  of  play,  would 


AS    IT    WAS.  79 

permit.  And  on  the  way  to  and  from  school,  the 
pleasure  of  dialogue  would  compete  with  that  of 
dousing  each  other  into  the  snow.  We  even 
"  spoke  "  while  doing  our  night  and  morning  work 
at  home.  A  boy  might  be  seen  at  the  wood-pile 
hacking  at  a  log  and  a  dialogue  by  turns.  Or 
perhaps,  after  dispensing  the  fodder  to  the  ten- 
ants of  the  barn,  he  would  mount  a  half-cleared 
scaffold,  and  out-bellow  the  wondering  beeves 
below. 

As  the  school  drew  towards  a  close,  Mr.  Spout- 
sound  proposed  to  have  an  exhibition  in  addition  to 
the  usual  examination,  on  the  last  day,  or  rather  the 
evening  of  it.  Our  oratorical  gifts  and  accomplish- 
ments must  be  publicly  displayed  ;  which  is  next  to 
publicly  using  them  in  the  important  affairs  of  the 
town,  the  state,  or  the  country. 

"  An  exhibition  ! — I  want  to  know  !  can  it  be  ?  " 
There  had  never  been  anything  like  it  in  the  dis- 
trict before,  nor  indeed  in  the  town.  Such  a  thing 
had  scarcely  been  heard  of,  except  by  some  one 
whose  uncle  or  cousin  had  been  to  the  academy  or 
to  college.  The  people  of  the  district  were  wide 
awake.  The  younger  portion  of  them  could  hardly 
sleep  nights. 

The  scholars  are  requested  to  select  the  pieces 
they  would  prefer  to  speak,  whether  speeches  or 
dialogues  ;  and  to  arrange  among  themselves  who 
should  be  fellow-partners  in  the  dramatical  per- 
formances. The  master,  however,  retained  the 
right  of  veto  on  their  choice.  Now,  what  a  rustle 


80  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

of  leaves  and  flatter  of  lips  in  school-hours,  and 
noisier  flapping  of  books  and  clatter  of  tongues  at 
noon,  in  settling  who  shall  have  which,  and  who 
speak  with  whom.  At  length  all  is  arranged,  and 
mostly  to  the  minds  of  all.  Then,  for  a  week  or 
two  before  the  final  consummation  of  things  elo- 
quent, it  was  nothing  but  rehearsal.  No  pains 
were  spared  by  any  one  that  he  might  be  perfect  in 
the  recollection  and  flourishing-off  of  his  part. 
Dialoguists  were  grouped  together  in  every  corner. 
There  was  a  buzz  in  the  back  seat,  a  hum  in  the 
closet,  a  screech  in  the  entry,  and  the  very  climax 
of  vociferation  in  the  spelling-floor.  Here  the  solos 
(if  I  may  borrow  a  term  from  music)  were  rehearsed 
under  the  immediate  criticism  of  Mr.  Spoutsound, 
whose  chief  delight  was  in  forensic  and  parliamen- 
tary eloquence.  The  old  school-house  was  a  little 
Babel  in  the  confusion  of  tongues. 

The  expected  day  at  length  arrives.  There  must 
be,  of  course,  the  usual  examination  in  the  after- 
noon. But  nobody  attended  this  but  the  minister, 
and  the  committee  who  engaged  the  master.  The 
people  of  the  district  all  intended  to  be  at  the  ex- 
hibition in  the  evening,  and  examination  was  "just 
nothing  at  all"  with  that  in  prospect.  And,  in  fact, 
it  was  just  nothing  at  all ;  for  the  "  ruling  passion  " 
had  swallowed  up  very  much  of  the  time  that 
should  have  been  devoted  to  the  really  important 
branches  of  education. 

After  the  finishing  of  the  school,  a  stage  was 
erected  at  the  end  of  the  spelling-floor,  next  to  the 


AS    IT    WAS.  81 

desk  and  the  closet.  It  was  hung  round  with 
checked  bed-blankets,  in  the  semblance  of  theatrical 
curtains,  to  conceal  any  preparations  that  might  be 
necessary  between  the  pieces. 

The  exhibition  was  to  commence  at  half  past 
six.  Before  that  time,  the  old  school-house  was 
crowded  to  the  utmost  of  its  capacity  for  containing, 
by  the  people  not  only  of  our  district,  but  of  other 
parts  of  the  town.  The  children  were  wedged 
into  chinks  too  narrow  for  the  admission  of  the 
grown-up.  Never  were  a  multitude  of  living  bodies 
more  completely  compressed  and  amalgamated  into 
one  continuous  mass. 

On  the  front  writing-bench,  just  before  the  stage, 
and  facing  the  audience,  sat  the  four  first,  and  some 
of  the  most  interesting  performers  on  the  occasion, 
viz.;  players  on  the  clarionet,  violin,  bass-viol,  and 
bassoon.  But  they  of  the  bow  were  sorely  troubled 
at  first.  Time  and  space  go  together  with  them, 
you  know.  They  cannot  keep  the  first  without 
possessing  the  latter.  As  they  sat,  their  sernibreves 
were  all  shortened  into  minims,  indeed  into  crotch- 
ets, for  lack  of  elbow-room.  At  length  the  violinist 
stood  up  straight  on  the  writing-bench,  so  as  to 
have  an  unimpeded  stretch  in  the  empty  air,  above 
the  thicket  of  heads.  His  fellow-sufferer  then  con- 
trived to  stand  so  that  his  long  bow  could  sweep 
freely  between  the  steady  heads  of  two  broad- 
shouldered  men,  out  of  danger  from  joggling  boys. 
This  band  discoursed  what  was  to  our  ears  most 
eloquent  music,  as  a  prelude  to  the  musical  elo- 


82  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

quence  which  was  to  be  the  chief  entertainment  of 
the  occasion.  They  played  intermediately  also, 
and  gave  the  winding-off  flourish  of  sound. 

At  forty  minutes  past  six,  the  curtain  rose  ;  that 
is,  the  bed-blankets  were  pulled  aside.  There  stood 
Mr.  Spoutsound  on  the  stage,  in  all  the  pomp  possi- 
ble to  diminutiveness.  He  advanced  two  steps,  and 
bowed  as  profoundly  from  height  to  depth  as  his 
brevity  of  stature  would  admit.  He  then  opened 
the  exhibition  by  speaking  a  poetical  piece  called  a 
Prologue,  which  he  found  in  one  of  the  old  reading- 
books.  As  this  was  originally  composed  as  an  in- 
troduction to  a  stage  performance,  it  was  thought 
appropriate  on  this  occasion.  Mr.  Spoutsound  now 
put  forth  in  all  the  plenitude  of  his  utterance.  It 
seemed  a  vocal  cataract,  all  torrent,  thunder,  and 
froth.  But  it  wanted  room, — an  abyss  to  empty 
into  ;  and  all  it  had  was  the  remnant  of  space  left 
in  our  little  school-room.  A  few  of  the  audience 
were  overwhelmed  with  the  pour  and  rush  and 
roar  of  the  pent-up  noise,  and  the  rest  with  admira- 
tion, yea,  astonishment,  that  the  schoolmaster  "  could 
speak  so." 

He  ceased — it  was  all  as  still  as  if  every  other 
voice  had  died  of  envy.  He  bowed — there  was 
then  a  general  breathing,  as  if  the  vocals  were  just 
coming  to  life  again.  He  sat  down  on  a  chair 
placed  on  the  stage ;  then  there  was  one  general 
buzz,  above  which  arose,  here  and  there,  a  living 
and  loud  voice.  Above  this,  soon  arose  the  exalta- 
tion of  the  orator's  favorite  march  ;  for  he  deemed 


AS    IT   WAS.  83 

it  proper  that  his  own  performance  should  be  sep- 
arated from  those  of  his  pupils  by  some  length  and 
.loftiness  of  music. 

Now  the  exhibition  commenced  in  good  earnest. 
The  dramatists  dressed  in  costumes  according  to 
the  character  to  be  sustained,  as  far  as  all  the  old  and 
odd  dresses  that  could  be  mustered  up  would  enable 
them  to  do  so.  The  district,  and  indeed  the  town, 
had  been  ransacked  for  revolutionary  coats  and 
cocked-up  hats  and  other  grand-fatherly  and  grand- 
motherly attire. 

The  people  present  were  quite  as  much  amused 
with  the  spectacle  as  with  the  speaking.  To  see 
the  old  fashions  on  the  young  folks,  and  to  see  the 
young  folks  personating  characters  so  entirely  oppo- 
site to  their  own  ;  for  instance,  the  slim,  pale-faced 
youth,  by  the  aid  of  stuffing,  looking,  and  acting 
the  fat  old  wine-bibber  ;  the  blooming  girl  of  seven- 
teen, putting  on  the  cap,  the  kerchief,  and  the  char- 
acter of  seventy-five,  &c. — all  this  was  ludicrously 
strange.  A  very  refined  taste  might  have  observed 
other  things  that  were  strangely  ludicrous  in  the 
elocution  and  gesticulation  of  these  disciples  of  Mr. 
Spoutsound  ;  but  most  of  the  company  present 
were  so  fortunate  as  to  perceive  no  bad  taste  to  mar 
their  enjoyment. 

The  little  boy  of  five  spoke  the  little  piece — 

"You'd  scarce  expect  one  of  my  age,"  &c. 

I  recollect  another  line  of  the  piece  which  has 
become  singularly  verified  in  the  history  of  the  lad. 


84  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

It  is  this — 

"  Tall  oaks  from  little  acorns  grow." 

Now,  this  acorn  of  eloquence,  which  sprouted 
forth  so  vigorously  on  this  occasion,  has  at  length 
grown  into  a  mighty  oak  of  oratory  on  his  native 
hills.  He  has  flourished  in  a  Fourth  of  July  ora- 
tion before  his  fellow-townsmen. 

Memorus  Wordwell,  who  at  this  time  was  eleven 
years  old,  yelped  forth  the  aforementioned  speech 
of  Pitt.  In  the  part  replying  to  the  taunt  that  the 
author  of  the  speech  was  a  young  man,  Memorus 
"  beat  all."  Next  to  the  master  himself,  he  excited 
the  greatest  admiration,  and  particularly  in  his  father 
and  mother. 

But  this  chapter  must  be  ended,  so  we  will  skip 
to  the  end  of  this  famous  exhibition.  At  a  quarter 
past  ten,  the  curtain  dropped  for  the  last  time  ;  that 
is,  the  bed-blankets  were  pulled  down  and  put  into 
the  sleighs  of  their  owners,  to  be  carried  home  to 
be  spread  over  the  dreamers  of  acts,  instead  of 
being  hung  before  the  actors  of  dreams.  The  little 
boys  and  girls  did  not  get  to  bed  till  eleven  o'clock 
that  night,  nor  all  of  them  to  sleep  till  twelve. 
They  were  never  more  the  pupils  of  Mr.  Spoutsound. 
He  soon  migrated  to  one  of  the  States  beyond  the 
Alleghany.  There  he  studied  law  not  more  than  a 
year  certainly,  and  was  admitted  to  the  Bar.  It  is 
rumored  that  he  soon  spoke  himself  into  the  legis- 
lature, and  as  soon  spoke  himself  out  again. 
Whether  he  will  speak  himself  into  Congress  is  a 


AS    IT    WAS.  85 

matter  of  exceeding  doubt.  I  have  nothing  more 
to  add  respecting  the  speaking  master,  or  the  speak- 
ing, excepting  that  one  shrewd  old  man  was  heard 
to  say  on  leaving  the  school-house,  exhibition  night, 
"  A  great  cry,  but  little  wool." 


86  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

LEARNING    TO    WRITE. 

THE  winter  I  was  nine  years  old,  I  made  another 
advance  toward  the  top  of  the  ladder,  in  the  cir- 
cumstance of  learning  to  write.  I  desired  and 
pleaded  to  commence  the  chirographical  art  the 
summer,  and  indeed  the  winter  before  ;  for  others 
of  my  own  age  were  at  it  thus  early.  But  my 
father  said  that  my  fingers  were  hardly  stout 
enough  to  manage  a  quill  from  his  geese  ;  but  that, 
if  I  would  put  up  with  the  quill  of  a  hen,  I  might 
try.  This  pithy  satire  put  an  end  to  my  teasing. 

Having  previously  had  the  promise  of  writing 
this  winter,  I  had  made  all  the  necessary  prepara- 
tions, days  before  school  was  to  begin.  I  had 
bought  me  a  new  birch  ruler,  and  had  given  a  third 
of  my  wealth,  four  cents,  for  it.  To  this  I  had 
appended,  by  a  well-twisted  flaxen  string,  a  plum- 
met of  my  own  running,  whittling,  and  scraping. 
I  had  hunted  up  an  old  pewter  inkstand,  which  had 
come  down  from  the  ancestral  eminence  of  my 
great  grandfather,  for  aught  I  know  ;  and  it  bore 
many  marks  of  a  speedier  and  less  honorable  de- 
scent, to  wit,  from  table  or  desk  to  the  floor.  I 
had  succeeded  in  becoming  the  owner  of  a  pen- 


AS    IT    WAS.  O7 

knife,  not  that  it  was  likely  to  be  applied  to  its  ap- 
propriate use  that  winter  at  least ;  for  such  begin- 
ners generally  used  the  instrument  to  mar  that  kind 
of  pens  they  wrote  in,  rather  than  to  make  or  mend 
those  they  wrote  with.  I  had  selected  one  of  the 
fairest  quills  out  of  an  enormous  bunch.  Half  a 
quire  of  foolscap  had  been  folded  into  the  shape  of 
a  writing-book  by  the  maternal  hand,  and  covered 
with  brown  paper,  nearly  as  thick  as  a  sheepskin. 

Behold  me  now,  on  the  first  Monday  in  Decem- 
ber, starting  for  school,  with  my  new  and  clean 
writing-book  buttoned  under  my  jacket,  my  ink- 
stand in  my  pocket,  a  bundle  of  necessary  books  in 
one  hand,  and  my  ruler  and  swinging  plummet  in 
the  other,  which  I  flourished  in  the  air  and  around 
my  head,  till  the  sharpened  lead  made  its  first  mark 
on  my  own  face.  My  long  white-feathered  goose- 
quill  was  twisted  into  my  hat-band,  like  a  plumy 
badge  of  the  distinction  to  which  I  had  arrived, 
and  the  important  enterprise  before  me. 

On  arriving  at  the  school-house,  T  took  a  seat 
higher  up  and  more  honorable  than  the  one  I  occu- 
pied the  winter  before.  At  the  proper  time,  my 
writing-book,  which,  with  my  quill,  I  had  handed 
to  the  master  on  entering,  was  returned  to  me,  with 
a  copy  set,  and  paper  ruled  and  pen  made.  My 
copy  was  a  single  straight  mark,  at  the  first  corner 
of  my  manuscript.  "  A  straight  mark  !  who  could 
not  make  so  simple  a  thing  as  that  ?"  thought  I.  I 
waited,  however,  to  see  how  the  boy  next  to  me,  a 
beginner  also,  should  succeed,  as  he  had  got  ready 


THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


a  moment  before  me.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  first 
chirograph ical  exploit  of  this  youth.  That  inky 
image  will  never  be  eradicated  from  my  memory, 
so  long  as  a  single  trace  of  early  experience  is  left 
on  its  tablet.  The  fact  is,  it  was  an  epoch  in  my 
life  :  something  great  was  to  be  done,  and  my  at- 
tention was  intensely  awake  to  whatever  had  a 
bearing  on  this  new  and  important  trial  of  my 
powers.  I  looked  to  see  a  mark  as  straight  as  a 
ruler,  having  its  four  corners  as  distinctly  defined 
as  the  angles  of  a  parallelogram. 

But,  O  me  !  what  a  spectacle  !  What  a  shocking 
contrast  to  my  anticipation  !  That  mark  had  as 
many  crooks  as  a  ribbon  in  the  wind,  and  nearer 
eight  angles  than  four ;  and  its  two  sides  were 
nearly  as  rough  and  as  notched  as  a  fine  handsaw  ; 
and,  indeed,  the  mark  somewhat  resembled  it  in 
width,  for  the  fellow  had  laid  in  a  store  of  ink 
sufficient  to  last  the  journey  of  the  whole  line. 
"Shame  on  him!"  said  I,  internally,  "  I  can  beat 
that,  I  know."  I  began  by  setting  my  pen  firmly 
on  the  paper,  and  I  brought  a  mark  half-way  down 
with  rectilinear  precision.  But  by  this  time  my 
head  began  to  swim,  and  my  hand  to  tremble.  I 
was  as  it  were  in  vacancy,  far  below  the  upper 
ruling,  and  as  far  above  the  lower.  My  self-pos- 
session failed  ;  my  pen  diverged  to  the  right,  then 
to  the  left,  crooking  all -the  remainder  of  its  way, 
with  as  many  zig-zags  as  could  well  be  in  so  short 
a  distance.  Mine  was  as  sad  a  failure  as  my  neigh- 
bor's. I  covered  it  over  with  my  fingers,  and  did 


AS    IT    WAS. 


not  jog  him  with  a  "  see  there,"  as  I  had  vainly  an- 
ticipated. 

So  much  for  pains-taking,  now  for  chance.  By 
good  luck  the  next  effort  was  quite  successful.  I 
now  dashed  on,  for  better  or  worse,  till  in  one  half- 
hour  I  had  covered  the  whole  page  with  the  stand- 
ing, though  seemingly  falling,  monuments  of  the 
chirographical  wisdom  of  my  teacher,  and  skill  of 
myself.  In  the  afternoon  a  similar  copy  was  set, 
and  I  dashed  on  again  as  if  I  had  taken  so  much 
writing  by  the  job,  and  my  only  object  was  to  save 
time.  Now  and  then  there  was  quite  a  reputable 
mark  ;  but  alas — for  him  whose  perception  of  the 
beautiful  was  particularly  delicate,  should  he  get  a 
glimpse  of  these  sloughs  of  ink  ! 

The  third  morning,  my  copy  was  the  first  ele- 
ment of  the  m  arid  w,  or  what  in  burlesque  is  called 
a  hook.  On  my  fourth,  I  had  the  last  half  of  the 
same  letters,  or  the  trammel ;  and  indeed  they  were 
the  similitudes  of  hooks  and  trammels,  forged  in  a 
country  plenteous  in  iron, 'and  by  the  youngest  ap- 
prentice at  the  hammer  and  anvil. 

In  this  way  I  went  through  all  the  small  letters, 
as  they  are  called.  First,  the  elements  or  constitu- 
ent parts,  then  the  whole  character  in  which  these 
parts  were  combined. 

Then  I  must  learn  to  make  the  capitals,  before 
entering  on  joining  hand.  Four  pages  were  devo- 
ted to  these.  Capital  letters  !  They  were  capital 
offences  against  all  that  is  graceful,  indeed  decent, 
yea  tolerable,  in  that  art  which  is  so  capable  of 
beautiful  forms  and  proportions. 
8* 


90  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

I  came  next  to  joining  hand,  about  three  weeks 
after  my  commencement;  and  joining  hand  indeed 
it  was !  It  seemed  as  if  my  hooks  and  trammels 
were  overheated  in  the  forge,  and  were  melted  into 
each  other  ;  the  shapeless  masses  so  clung  together 
at  points  where  they  ought  to  have  been  separate, 
so  very  far  were  they  from  all  resemblance  to  con- 
joined, yet  distinct  and  well-defined  characters. 

Thus  I  went  on,  a  perfect  little  prodigal  in  the 
expenditure  of  paper,  ink,  pens  and  time.  The 
first  winter,  I  splashed  two,  and  the  next,  three 
writing-books  with  inky  puddle,  in  learning  coarse 
hand ;  and,  after  all,  I  had  gained  not  much  in  pen- 
manship, except  a  workmanlike  assurance  and 
celerity  of  execution,  such  as  is  natural  to  an  old 
hand  at  the  business. 

The  third  winter,  I  commenced  small  hand,  or 
rather  fine,  as  it  is  more  technically  denominated; 
or  rather  a  copy  of  half-way  dimensions,  that  the 
change  to  fine  running-hand  might  not  be  too  sud- 
den. From  this  dwarfish  course,  or  giant  fine  hand, 
— just  as  you  please  to  call  it, — I  slid  down  to  the 
genuine  epistolary  and  mercantile,  with  a  capital  at 
the  head  of  the  line,  as  much  out  of  proportion  as  a 
corpulent  old  captain  marching  in  single  file  before 
a  parade  of  little  boys. 

Some  of  our  teachers  were  accustomed  to  spend 
a  few  minutes,  forenoon  and  afternoon,  in  going 
round  among  the  writers  to  see  that  they  held  the 
pen  properly,  and  took  a  decent  degree  of  pains. 
But  the  majority  of  them,  according  to  present  rec- 


AS   IT   WAS.  91 

oiled  ions,  never  stirred  from  the  desk  to  superin- 
tend this  branch.  There  was  something  like  an 
excuse,  however,  for  not  visiting  their  pupils  while 
at  the  pen.  .Sitting  as  they  did  in  those  long,  nar- 
row, ricketty  seats,  one  could  hardly  be  got  at 
without  joggling  two  or  three  others,  displacing  a 
writing-book,  knocking  over  an  inkstand,  and 
making  a  deal  of  rustle,  rattle,  and  racket. 

Some  of  the  teachers  set  the  copies  at  home  in 
the  evening,  but  most  set  them  in  school.  .Six 
hours  per  day  were  all  that  custom  required  of  a 
teacher  :  of  course,  half  an  hour  at  home  spent  in 
the  matters  of  the  school  would  have  been  time  and 
labor  not  paid  for,  and  a  gratuity  not  particularly 
expected.  On  entering  in  the  morning,  and  looking 
for  the  master  as  the  object  at  which  to  make  the 
customary  "  manners,"  we  could  perceive  just  the 
crown  of  his  head  beyond  a  huge  stack  of  manu- 
scripts, which,  together  with  his  copy-setting  atten- 
tion, prevented  the  bowed  and  courtesied  respects 
from  his  notice.  A  few  of  the  most  advanced  in 
penmanship  had  copper-plate  slips,  as  they  were 
called,  tucked  into  their  manuscripts,  for  the  trial  of 
their  more  skillful  hands  ;  or,  if  an  ordinary  learner 
had  for  once  done  extraordinarily  well,  he  was  per- 
mitted a  slip  as  a  mark  of  merit,  and  a  circumstance 
of  encouragement.  Sometimes,  when  the  master 
was  pressed  for  time,  all  the  joining-handers  were 
thus  furnished.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  have  copies 
of  this  sort  ;  their  polished  shades,  graceful  curves, 
and  delicate  hair  lines,  were  so  like  a  picture  for  the 


92  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

eye  to  dwell  upon.  But,  when  we  set  about  the 
work  of  imitation,  discouragement  took  the  place  of 
pleasure.  "After  all,  give  us  the  master's  hand," 
we  thought ;  "  we  can  come  up  to  that  now  and 
then."  We  despaired  of  ever  becoming  decent 
penmen  with  this  copper-plate  perfection  mocking 
our  clumsy  fingers. 

There  was  one  item  in  penmanship  which  our 
teachers  generally  omitted  altogether.  It  was  the 
art  of  making  and  mending  pens.  I  suffer,  and 
others  on  my  account  suffer,  from  this  neglect  even 
at  this  day.  The  untraceable  "  partridge  tracks," 
as  some  one  called  them,  with  which  I  perplex  my 
correspondents,  and  am  now  about  to  provoke  the 
printer,  are  chargeable  to  my  ignorance  in  pen- 
making.  It  is  a  fact,  however  some  acquaintances 
may  doubt  it,  that  I  generally  write  very  legibly, 
if  not  gracefully,  whenever  I  borrow,  beg,  or  steal 
a  pen. 

Let  not  the  faithful  Wrifford,  should  his  eye 
chance  to  fall  on  this  lament,  think  that  I  have  for- 
gotten his  twelve  lessons,  of  one  hour  each,  on 
twelve  successive,  cold  November  days,  when  I  was 
just  on  the  eve  of  commencing  pedagogue  for  the 
first  time — (for  I,  too,  have  kept  a  district  school,  in 
a  manner  somewhat  like  "  as  it  was") — I  have  not 
forgotten  them.  He  did  well  for  me.  But,  alas  ! 
his  tall  form  bent  over  my  shoulder,  his  long  flexile 
finger  adjusted  my  pen,  and  his  vigilant  eye  glanced 
his  admonitions,  in  vain.  That  thirteenth  lesson 
which  he  added  gratis,  to  teach  us  pen-making,  I 


AS    IT    WAS.  93 

was  so  unfortunate  as  to  lose.  Lamentable  to  me 
and  to  many  others,  that  I  was  kept  away. 

I  blush  while  I  acknowledge  it,  but  I  have  taught 
school,  have  taught  penmanship,  have  made  and 
mended  a  hundred  pens  a  day,  and  all  the  time  I 
knew  not  much  more  of  the  art  of  turning  quill 
into  pen,  than  did  the  goose  from  whose  wing  it 
was  plucked.  But  my  manufactures  were  received 
by  my  pupils,  as  good.  Good,  of  course,  they  must 
be ;  for  the  master  made  them,  and  who  should 
dare  to  question  his  competency?  If  the  instru- 
ment did  not  operate  well,  the  fault  must  certainly 
be  in  the  fingers  that  wielded,  not  those  that 
wrought  it. 

O  ye  pedagogues,  whom  I  have  here  condemned 
to  "everlasting  fame!"  taking  it  for  granted  that 
this  record  will  be  famous  forever,  be  not  too  angry 
with  my  humble  authorship;  for  I,  too,  let  it  be  re- 
peated, have  kept  a  district  school  as  it  was,  as  well 
as  been  to  one.  But,  brother  pedagogues  of  the 
past !  I  will  tell  you  what  I  purpose  to  do  :  per- 
haps some  of  you  will  purpose  to  do  so  likewise. 
Should  this  exposure  of  our  deficiencies  meet  with 
a  tolerable  sale,  I  purpose  to  employ  a  teacher  in  the 
art  of  cutting,  splitting,  and  shaving  pen  timber 
into  the  best  possible  fitness  for  chirographic  use. 
It  is  my  heart's  hope,  and  it  shall  be  my  hand's 
care,  that  he  may  not  teach  in  vain.  Then,  if  I 
cannot  make  amends  to  my  cheated  pupils,  I  trust 
that  the  wearied  eyes  and  worn-out  patience  of 
former  tracers  of  "  partridge  tracks"  shall  recover, 
to  be  thus  wearied  and  worn  out  no  more. 


94  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

SEVENTH  WINTER,  BUT  NOT  MUCH  ABOUT  IT — EIGHTH 
WINTER — MR.  JOHNSON  —  GOOD  ORDER,  AND  BUT  LITTLE 
PUNISHING A  STORY  ABOUT  PUNISHING — NINTH  WIN- 
TER. 

OF  rny  seventh  winter  I  have  but  little  to  say  j 
for  but  little  was  done  worthy  of  record  here.  We 
had  an  indolent  master  and  an  idle  school.  Some 
tried  to  kindle  up  the  speaking  spirit  again  ;  but 
the  teacher  had  no  taste  that  way.  But  there  was 
dialoguing  enough  nevertheless  —  in  that  form 
called  whispering.  Our  school  was  a  theatre  in 
earnest;  for  " plays"  were  going  on  all  the  time. 
It  was  "acting"  to  the  life,  acting  any-how  rather 
than  like  scholars  at  their  books.  But  let  that  win- 
ter and  its  works,  or  rather  want  of  works,  pass. 
Of  the  eighth  I  can  say  something  worth  notice,  I 
think. 

In  consequence  of  the  lax  discipline  of  the  two 
last  winters,  the  school  had  fallen  into  very  idle  and 
turbulent  habits.  "A  master  that  will  keep  order, 
a  master  that  will  keep  order !  "  was  the  cry  through- 
out the  district.  Accordingly  such  a  one  was 
sought,  and  fortunately  found.  A  certain  Mr.  John- 
son, who  had  taught  in  a  neighboring  town,  was 


AS    IT    \TAS.  95 

famous  for  his  strictness,  and  that  without  much 
punishing.  He  was  obtained  at  a  little  higher  price 
than  usual,  aud  was  thought  to  be  well  worth  the 
price.  I  will  describe  his  person,  and  relate  an 
incident  as  characteristic  of  the  man. 

Mr.  Johnson  was  full  six  feet  high,  with  the 
diameter  of  his  chest  and  limbs  in  equal  proportion. 
His  face  was  long,  and  as  dusky  as  a  Spaniard's," 
and  the  dark  was  still  darkened  by  the  roots  of  an 
enormous  beard.  His  eyes  were  black,  and  looked 
floggings  and  blood  from  out  their  cavernous 
sockets,  which  were  overhung  by  eyebrows  not 
unlike  brush-heaps.  His  hair  was  black  and  curly, 
and  extended  down,  and  expanded  on  each  side  of 
his  face  in  a  pair  of  whiskers  a  freebooter  might 
have  envied. 

He   possessed  the  longest,  widest,  and  thickest  ;\ 
ruler  I  ever  saw.     This  was  seldom  brandished  in    i 
his  hand,  but  generally  lay  in  sight  upon  the  desk.     / 
Although    he    was   so    famous   for    his    orders    in  / 
school,    he  scarcely  ever  had   to   use   his  punitive 
instrument.      His   look,    bearing,   and    voice    were 
enough  for  the  subjection  of  the  most  riotous  school. 
Never  was  our  school  so  still  and  so  studious  as  this 
winter.    A  circumstance  occurred  the  very  first  day, 
which  drove  every  thing  like  mischief  in  conster- 
nation from  every  scholar's  heart.     Abijah  Wilkins 
had  for  years  been  called  the  worst  boy  in  school. 
Masters  could  do  nothing  with  him.     He  was  surly, 
saucy,  profane,  and  truthless.     Mr.  Patch  took  him 
from  an  alms-house  when  he  was  eight  years  old, 


96  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

which  was  eight  years  before  the  point  of  time 
now  in  view.  In  his  family  were  mended  neither 
his  disposition,  his  manners,  nor  even  his  clothes. 
He  looked  like  a  morose,  unpitied  pauper  still.  He 
had  shaken  his  knurly  and  filthy  fist  in  the  very 
face  and  eyes  of  the  last  winter's  teacher.  Mr. 
Johnson  was  told  of  this  son  of  perdition  before  he 
began,  and  was  prepared  to  take  some  efficient  step 
at  his  first  offence. 

Well,  the  afternoon  of  the  first  day,  Ahijah  thrust 
a  pin  into  a  boy  beside  him,  which  made  him 
suddenly  cry  out  with  the  sharp  pain.  The  sufferer 
was  questioned ;  Abijah  was  accused,  and  found 
guilty.  The  master  requested  James  Clark  to  go  to 
his  room,  and  bring  a  rattan  he  would  find  there,  as 
if  the  formidable  ferule  was  unequal  to  the  present 
exigency.  James  came  with  a  rattan  very  long 
and  very  elastic,  as  if  it  had  been  selected  from  a 
thousand,  not  to  walk  with,  but  to  whip.  Then  he 
ordered  all  the  blinds  next  to  the  road  to  be  closed. 
He  then  said,  "  Abijah,  come  this  way."  He  came. 
"The  school  may  shut  their  books,  and  suspend 
their  studies  a  few  minutes.  Abijah,  take  off  your 
frock,  fold  it  up,  lay  it  on  the  seat  behind  you." 
Abijah  obeyed  these  several  commands  with  sullen 
tardiness.  Here,  a  boy  up  towards  the  back  seat 
burst  out  with  a  sort  of  shuddering  laugh,  produced 
by  a  nervous  excitement  he  could  not  control. 
"  Silence  !  "  said  the  master,  with  a  thunder,  and  a 
stamp  on  the  floor  that  made  the  house  quake.  All 
was  as  still  as  midnight — not  a  foot  moved,  not  a 


AS    IT    WAS.  97 

seat  cracked,  not  a  book  rustled.  The  school 
seemed  to  be  appalled.  The  expression  of  every 
countenance  was  changed;  some  were  unnaturally 
pale,  some  flushed,  and  eighty  distended  and  moist- 
ening eyes  were  fastened  on  the  scene.  The  awful 
expectation  was  too  much  for  one  poor  girl.  "  May 
I  go  home?"  she  whined  with  an  imploring  and 
terrified  look.  A  single  glance  from  the  counte- 
nance of  authority  crushed  the  trembler  down  into 
her  seat  again.  A  tremulous  sigh  escaped  from  one 
of  the  larger  gfrls,  then  all  was  breathlessly  still 
again.  "  Take  off  your  jacket  also,  Abijah.  Fold 
it,  and  lay  it  on  your  frock."  Mr.  Johnson  then 
took  his  chair,  and  set  it  away  at  the  farthest  dis- 
tance the  floor  would  permit,  as  if  all  the  space 
that  could  be  had  would  be  necessary  for  the  opera- 
tions about  to  take  place.  He  then  took  the  rattan, 
and  seemed  to  examine  it  closely,  drew  it  through 
his  hand,  bent  it  almost  double,  laid  it  down  again. 
He  then  took  off  his  own  coat,  folded  it  up,  and 
laid  it  on  the  desk.  Abijah's  breast  then  heaved 
like  a  bellows,  his  limbs  began  to  tremble,  and  his 
face  was  like  a  sheet.  The  master  now  took  the 
rattan  in  his  right  hand,  and  the  criminal  by  the 
collar  with  his  left,  his  large  knuckles  pressing  hard 
against  the  shoulder  of  the  boy.  He  raised  the 
stick  high  over  the  shrinking  back.  Then,  oh ! 
what  a  screech  !  Had  the  rod  fallen  ?  No,  it  still 
remained  suspended  in  the  air.  "  O — I  won't  do  so- 
agin — I'll  never  do  so  agin — O — O— don't — I  will- 
be  good— sartinly  will."  The  threatening  instru- 
9 


98  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

ment  of  pain  was  gently  taken  from  its  elevation. 
The  master  spoke  :  "  You  promise,  do  you  ?  " 
"Yis,  sir, — oh!  yis,  sir."  The  tight  grasp  was 
withdrawn  from  the  collar.  "  Put  on  your  frock 
and  jacket,  and  go  to  your  seat.  The  rest  of  you 
may  open  your  books  again."  The  school  breathed 
again.  Paper  rustled,  feet  were  carefully  moved, 
the  seats  slightly  cracked,  and  all  things  went  stilly 
on  as  before.  Abijah  kept  his  promise.  He  became 
an  altered  boy  ;  obedient,  peaceable,  studious. 
This  long  and  slow  process  of  preparing  for  the 
punishment  was  artfully  designed  by  the  master, 
gradually  to  work  up  the  boy's  terrors  and  agonizing 
expectations  to  the  highest  pitch,  until  he  should 
yield  like  a  babe  to  the  intensity  of  his  emotions. 
His  stubborn  nature,  which  had  been  like  an  oak 
on  the  hills  which  no  storm  could  prostrate,  was 
whittled  away  and  demolished,  as  it  were,  sliver  by 
sliver. 

Not  Abijah  Wilkins  only,  but  the  whole  school 
were  subdued  to  the  most  humble  and  habitual 
obedience  by  the  scene  I  have  described.  The 
terror  of  it  seemed  to  abide  in  their  hearts.  The 
school  improved  much  this  winter,  that  is,  accord- 
ing to  the  ideas  of  improvement  then  prevailing. 
Lessons  were  well  gotten,  and  well  said,  although 
the  why  and  the  wherefore  of  them  were  not  asked 
or  given. 

Mr.  Johnson  was  employed  the  next  winter  also, 
and  it  was  the  prevailing  wish  that  he  should  be 
engaged  for  the  third  time  ;  but  he  could  not  be 


AS    IT    WAS.  99 

obtained.  His  reputation  as  a  teacher  had  secured 
for  him  a  school  at  twenty  dollars  per  month  for  the 
year  round,  in  a  distant  village ;  so  we  were  never 
more  to  sit  "  as  still  as  mice,"  in  his  most  magiste- 
rial presence.  For  years  the  saying  in  the  district, 
in  respect  to  him  was,  "  He  was  the  best  master  I 
ever  went  to  ;  he  kept  such  good  order,  and  pun- 
ished so  little." 


100  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


CHAPTER    XV. 

GOING      OUT MAKING      BOWS BOYS     COMING     IN — GIRLS 

GOING    OUT    AND    COMING    IN. 

THE  young  are  proverbially  ignorant  of  the  value 
of  time.  There  is  one  portion  of  it,  however, 
which  they  well  know  how  to  appreciate.  They 
feel  it  to  be  a  wealth  both  to  body  and  soul.  Its  few 
moments  are  truly  golden  ones,  forming  a  glittering 
spot  amid  the  drossy  dullness  of  in-school  duration. 
I  refer  to  the  forenoon  and  afternoon  recess  for 
"  going  out."  Consider  that  we  came  from  all  the 
freedom  of  the  farm,  where  we  had  the  sweep  of 
acres — hills,  valleys,  woods,  and  waters,  and  were 
crowded,  I  may  say  packed,  into  the  district  box. 
Each  one  had  scarcely  more  space  than  would  allow 
him  to  shift  his  head  from  an  inclination  to  one 
shoulder  to  an  inclination  to  the  other,  or  from  lean- 
ing on  the  right  elbow,  to  leaning  on  the  left. 
There  we  were,  the  blood  of  health  bouncing 
through  our  veins,  feeding  our  strength,  swelling 
our  dimensions ;  and  there  we  must  stay,  three 
hours  on  a  stretch,  with  the  exception  of  the  afore- 
mentioned recess.  No  wonder  that  we  should  prize 
this  brief  period  high,  and  rush  tumultuously  out 
doors  to  enjoy  it. 


AS    IT   WAS.  101 

There  is  one  circumstance  in  going  out  which  so 
much  amuses  my  recollection,  that  I  will  venture 
to  describe  it  to  my  readers.  It  is  the  making  of 
our  bows,  or  manners,  as  it  is  called.  If  one  wishes 
to  see  variety  in  the  doing  of  a  single  act,  let  him 
look  at  school-boys,  leaving  their  bows  at  the  door. 
Tell  me  not  of  the  diversities  and  characteristics,  of 
the  gentilities  and  the  awkwardnesses  in  the  civility 
of  shaking  hands.  The  bow  is  as  diversified  and 
characteristic,  as  awkward  or  genteel,  as  any  move- 
ment many-motioned  man  is  called  on  to  make. 
Especially  in  a  country  school,  where  fashion  and 
politeness  have  not  altered  the  tendencies  of  nature 
by  forming  the  manners  of  all  after  one  model  of 
propriety.  Besides,  the  bow  was  before  the  shake, 
both  in  the  history  of  the  world,  and  in  that  of 
every  individual  man.  No  doubt  the  world's  first 
gentleman,  nature-taught,  declined  his  head  in  some 
sort,  in  saluting  for  the  first  time  the  world's  first 
lady,  in  primitive  Eden.  And  no  doubt  every  little 
boy  has  been  instructed  to  make  a  "  nice  bow," 
from  chubby  Cain,  Abel  and  Seth,  down  to  the 
mannered  younglings  of  the  present  day. 

Well,  then,  it  is  near  half-past  ten,  A.  M.,  but 
seemingly  eleven  to  the  impatient  youngters ;  an- 
ticipation rather  than  reflection,  being  the  faculty 
most  in  action  just  now.  At  last  the  master  takes 
out  his  watch,  and  gives  a  hasty  glance  at  the  in- 
dex of  the  hour.  Or,  if  this  premonitory  symptom 
does  not  appear,  watching  eyes  can  discern  the 
signs  of  the  time  in  the  face  relaxing  itself  from 
9* 


102  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

severe  duty,  and  in  the  moving  lips  just  assuming 
that  precise  form  necessary  to  pronounce  the  sen- 
tence of  liberation.  Then,  make  ready,  take  aim, 
is  at  once  the  order  of  every  idler.  "  The  boys 
may  go  out."  The  little  white  heads  on  the  little 
seat,  as  it  is  called,  are  the  foremost,  having  nothing 
in  front  to  impede  a  straight-forward  sally.  One 
little  nimble-foot  is  at  the  door  in  an  instant;  and, 
as  he  lifts  the  latch,  he  tosses  off  a  bow  over  his 
•left  shoulder,  and  is  out  in  a  twinkling.  The  next 
perhaps  squares  himself  towards  the  master  with 
more  precision,  not  having  his  attention  divided 
between  opening  the  door  and  leaving  his  manners. 
Next  comes  the  very  least  of  the  little,  just  in  front 
of  the  big-boy  rush  behind  him,  tap-tapping  and 
tottering  along  the  floor,  with  his  finger  in  his  nose  ; 
but,  in  wheeling  from  his  bow,  he  blunders  head  first 
through  the  door,  in  his  anxiety  to  get  out  of  the 
way  of  the  impending  throng  of  fists  and  knees 
•behind,  in  avoiding  which  he  is  prostrated  under  the 
tramp  of  cowhide. 

Now  come  the  Bigs  from  behind  the  writing 
benches.  Some  of  them  make  a  bow  with  a  jerk 
of  the  head  and  snap  of  the  neck  possible  only  to 
giddy-brained,  oily-jointed  boyhood.  Some,  whose 
mothers  are  of  the  precise  cast,  or  who  have  had 
their  manners  stiffened  at  a  dancing-school,  will 
wait  till  the  throng  is  a  little  thinned  ;  and  then 
they  will  strut  out  with  their  arms  as  straight  at 
their  sides  as  if  there  were  no  such  things  as  elbows, 
and  will  let  their  upper  person  bend  upon  the  middle 


AS    IT    WAS.  103 

hinge,  as  if  this  were  the  only  joint  in  their  frames. 
Some  look  straight  at  their  toes,  as  the  face  de- 
scends toward  the  floor.  Others  strain  a  glance  up 
at  the  master,  displaying  an  uncommon  proportion 
of  that  beauty  of  the  eye, — the  white.  Lastly 
come  the  tenants  of  the  extreme  back  seat,  the 
Anaks  of  the  school.  One  long-limbed,  lank-sided, 
back-bending  fellow  of  twenty  is  at  the  door  at 
four  strides ;  he  has  the  proper  curve  already  pre- 
pared by  his  ordinary  gait,  and  he  has  nothing  to 
do  but  swing  round  towards  the  master,  and  his 
manners  are  made.  Another,  whose  body  is  de- 
veloped in  the  full  proportions  of  manhood,  turns 
himself  half  way,  and  just  gives  the  slightest  in- 
clination of  the  person.  He  thinks  himself  too 
much  of  a  man  to  make  such  a  ridiculous  popping 
of  the  pate  as  the  younglings  who  have  preceded 
him.  Another,  with  a  tread  that  makes  the  floor 
tremble,  goes  straight  out  through  the  open  door, 
without  turning  to  the  right  or  left ;  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  I  am  quite  too  old  for  that  business." 

There  are  two  in  the  short  seat  at  the  end  of  the 
spelling  floor  who  have  almost  attained  to  the  glo- 
rious, or  rather  vain-glorious  age  of  twenty-one. 
They  are  perhaps  even  more  aged  than  the  vener- 
able Rabbi  of  the  school  himself.  So  they  respect 
their  years,  and  put  away  childish  things,  inasmuch 
as  they  do  not  go  out  as  their  juniors  do.  One  of 
them  sticks  to  his  slate.  It  is  his  last  winter  ;  and, 
as  he  did  not  catch  flying  time  by  the  forelock,  he 
must  cling  to  his  heel.  The  other  unpuckers  his 


104  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

arithmetical  brow,  puts  his  pencil  between  his 
teeth,  leans  his  head  on  his  right  palm,  with  his 
left  fingers  adjusts  his  foretop,  and  then  composes 
himself  into  an  amiable  gaze  upon  the  fair  remain- 
der of  the  school.  Perhaps  his  eyes  leap  at  once  to 
that  damsel  of  eighteen  in  the  furthermost  seat,  who 
is  the  secret  mistress  of  his  heart. 

How  still  it  is  in  the  absence  of  half  the  limbs 
and  lips  of  the  domain  !  That  little  girl  who  has 
been  buzzing  round  her  lesson  like  a  bee  round  a 
honey-suckle,  off  and  on  by  turns,  is  now  sipping 
its  sweets,  if  any  sweets  there  be,  as  closely  and 
stilly  as  that  same  bee  plunged  in  the  bell  of  the 
flower.  The  secret  of  the  unwonted  silence  is,  the 
master  knows  on  which  side  of  the  aisle  to  look  for 
noise  and  mischief  now. 

It  is  time  for  the  boys  to  come  in.  The  master 
raps  on  the  window  as  a  signal.  At  first  they  scat- 
ter in  one  by  one,  keeping  the  door  on  the  slam, 
slam.  But  soon,  in  rush  the  main  body,  pell-mell, 
rubbing  their  ears,  kicking  their  heels,  puffing, 
panting,  wheezing.  Impelled  by  the  temporary 
chill,  they  crowd  round  the  fire,  regaining  the 
needed  warmth  as  much  by  the  exercise  of  elbows 
as  by  the  heat  of  fuel.  "  Take  your  seats,  you  that 
have  got  warm,"  says  the  master.  No  one  starts. 
"Take  your  seats,  all  of  you."  Tramp,  tramp, 
how  the  floor  trembles  again,  and  the  seats  clatter. 
There  goes  an  ink-stand.  Ben  pinches  Tom  to  let 
him  know  that  he  must  go  in  first.  Torn  stands 
back  ;  but  gives  Ben  a  kick  on  the  shins  as  he 
passes,  to  pay  for  that  pinch. 


AS    IT    WAS.  105 

"  The  girls  may  go  out."  The  noise  and  con- 
fusion are  now  of  the  feminine  gender.  Trip,  trip, 
rustle,  rustle.  Shall  I  describe  the  diversities  of 
the  courtesy  ?  I  could  pen  a  trait  or  two,  but  pre- 
fer to  leave  the  subject  to  the  more  discriminating 
quill  of  the  courtesying  sex.  The  shrill  tones  arid 
gossiping  chatter  of  girlhood  now  ring  from  without. 
But  they  do  not  stay  long.  Trip,  trip,  rustle,  rustle 
back  again.  Half  of  them  are  sucking  a  lump  of 
snow  for  drink.  One  has  broken  an  icicle  from  the 
well-spout,  and  is  nibbing  it  as  she  would  a  stick 
of  candy.  See  Sarah  jump.  The  ice-eater's  cold, 
dripping  hand  has  mischievously  sprinkled  her 
neck.  Down  goes  the  melting  little  cone,  and  is 
scattered  in  shivers.  "  Take  your  seats,"  says  au- 
thority with  soft  command.  He  is  immediately 
obeyed ;  and  the  dull  routine  rolls  on  toward 
noon. 


106  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

NOON NOISE  AND  DINNER — SPORTS  AT  SCHOOL — COAST- 
ING— SNOW-BALLING — A  CERTAIN  MEMORABLE  SNOW- 
BALL BATTLE. 

NOON  has  come.  It  is  even  half-past  twelve ;  for 
the  teacher  got  puzzled  with  a  hard  sum,  and 
did  not  attend  to  the  second  reading  of  the  first 
class  so  soon  as  usual  by  half  an  hour.  It  has  been 
hitch,  hitch — joggle,  joggle — creak,  creak,  all  over 
the  school-room  for  a  considerable  time.  "  You  are 
dismissed,"  cornes  at  last.  The  going  out  of  half 
the  school  only  was  a  noisy  business;  but  now 
there  is  a  tenfold  thunder,  augmented  by  the  windy 
rush  of  many  petticoats.  All  the  voices  of  all  the 
tongues  now  split  or  rather  shatter  the  air,  if  I  may 
so  speak.  There  are  more  various  tones  than  could 
be  indicated  by  all  the  epithets  ever  applied  to 
sound. 

The  first  manual  operation  is  the  extracting  of 
certain  parcels  from  pockets,  bags,  baskets,  hat- 
crowns,  and  perhaps  the  capacious  cavity  formed  by 
the  tie  of  a  short  open  frock.  Then  what  a  savory 
development, — bread,  cheese,  cakes,  pies,  sausages, 
and  apples  without  number !  It  is  voice  versus 
appetite  now  for  the  occupancy  of  the  mouth.  Or, 


AS    IT   WA3.  107 

to  speak  less  lawyer-like  and  more  popularly,  they 
have  a.  jaw  together. 

The  case  is  soon  decided,  that  is,  dinner  is  dis- 
patched. Then  commences  what,  in  view  of  most 
of  us,  is  the  chief  business  of  the  day.  Before 
describing  this,  however,  I  would  premise  a  little. 
The  principal  allurement  and  prime  happiness  of 
going  to  school,  as  it  used  to  be  conducted,  was  the 
opportunity  it  afforded  for  social  amusement.  Our 
rural  abodes  were  scattered  generally  a  half  or  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  apart,  and  the  young  could 
not  see  each  other  every  day  as  conveniently  as 
they  can  in  a  city  or  a  village.  The  schooling 
season  was  therefore  looked  forward  to  as  one  long 
series  of  holidays,  or,  as  Mark  Martin  once  said,  as 
so  many  thanksgiving  days,  except  the  music,  the 
sermon,  and  the  dinner.  Mark  Martin,  let  me 
mention  by  the  way,  was  the  wit  of  the  school. 
Some  of  his  sayings,  that  made  us  laugh  at  the 
time,  I  shall  hereafter  put  down.  They  may  not 
affect  the  reader,  however,  as  they  did  us,  for  the 
lack  of  his  peculiar  manner  which  set  them  off. 
"  What  a  droll  fellow  Mark  Martin  is!  "  used  to  be 
the  frequent  expression. 

Should  I  describe  all  the  pastimes  of  the  winter 
school,  it  would  require  more  space  than  befits 
my  plan.  I  shall  therefore  touch  only  on  one  or 
two  of  the  different  kinds  of  out-door  frolic,  such 
only  as  are  peculiar  to  winter,  and  give  a  partic- 
ular zest  to  the  schooling  season. 

Of  all  the  sportive  exercises  of  the  winter  school, 


108  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

the  most  exhilarating,  indeed  intensely  delightful 
was  sliding  down  hill,  or  coasting,  as  it  is  called. 
Not  having  the  privilege  of  this,  excepting  in  the 
snowy  season,  and  then  with  frequent  interruptions, 
it  was  far  more  highly  prized.  The  location  of  our 
school  was  uncommonly  favorable  for  this  diversion. 
Situated  as  we  were  on  a  hill,  we  could  go  down 
like  arrows  for  the  eighth  of  a  mile  on  one  side,  and 
half  that  distance  on  the  other.  Almost  every  boy 
had  his  sled.  Some  of  us  got  our  names  branded 
on  the  vehicle,  and  prided  ourselves  in  the  work- 
manship or  the  swiftness  of  it,  as  mariners  do  in 
that  of  a  ship.  We  used  to  personify  the  dear 
little  speeder  with  a  she  and  a  her,  seaman-like 
also.  Take  it  when  a  few  days  of  severely  cold 
and  clear  weather  have  permitted  the  road  to  be 
worn  icy  smooth,  and  the  careering  little  coaster  is 
the  most  enviable  pleasure-rider  that  was  ever  eager 
to  set  out  or  sorry  to  stop.  The  very  tugging  up 
hill  back  again,  is  not  without  its  pleasure.  The 
change  of  posture  is  agreeable,  and  also  the  stir  of 
limb  and  stretch  of  muscle  for  the  short  time  re- 
quired to  return  to  the  starting  place.  Then  there 
is  the  looking  forward  to  the  glorious  down-hill 
again.  In  all  the  pleasures  of  human  experience, 
there  is  nothing  like  coasting,  for  the  regular  alter- 
nation of  glowing  anticipation  and  frame-thrilling 
enjoyment. 

Had  there  been  a  mill-pond  or  any  other  suffi- 
cient expanse  of  water  near  the  old  school-house,  I 
should  probably  now  pen  a  paragraph  on  the 


AS    IT    WAS.  109 

delights  of  skating ;  but  as  there  was  not,  and  this 
was  not  therefore  one  of  our  school-sports,  such  a 
description  would  not  properly  belong  to  these 
annals. 

But  there  is  another  pastime  which  comes  only 
with  the  winter,  and  is  enjoyed  mostly  at  school,  to 
which  I  will  devote  a  few  pages.  It  is  the  chival- 
rous pastime  of  snow-balling.  Take,  for  instance, 
the  earliest  snow  of  winter,  falling  gently  and; 
stilly  with  its  feathery  flakes,  of  just  the  right 
moisture  for  easy  manipulation.  Or  when  the 
drifts  soften  in  the  mid-winter  thaw,  or  begin  to 
settle  beneath  the  lengthened  and  sunny  days  of 
March,  then  is  the  season  for  the  power  and  glory 
of  a  snow-ball  fight.  The  whole  school  of  the 
martial  sex  are  out  of  a  noon-time,  from  the  vet- 
erans of  a  hundred  battles  down  almost  to  the 
freshest  recruits  of  the  little  front  seat.  Half 
against  half,  unless  a  certain  number  agree  *to 
"  take  "  all  the  rest.  The  oldest  are  opposed  to  the 
oldest  in  the  hostile  array,  so  that  the  little  round, 
and  perhaps  hard,  missile  may  not  be  out  of  pro- 
portion to  the  age,  size,  and  toughness  of  the 
antagonist  likely  to  be  hit.  The  little  boys,  of 
course,  against  the  little,  with  this  advantage,  that 
their  discharges  lose  most  of  their  force  before^ 
reaching  the  object  aimed  at.  When  one  is  hit,  he 
is  not  merely  wounded  ;  he  is  a  dead  man  as  to  this 
battle.  Here,  no  quarter  is  asked  or  given.  The 
balls  whistle,  the  men  fall,  until  all  are  defunct 
but  one  or  two  individuals,  who  remain  unkilledt 
10 


110  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

because  there  is  no  enemy  left  to  hurl  the  fatal 
ball. 

But  our  conflicts  were  not  always  make-believes, 
and  conducted  according  to  the  formal  rules  of 
play :  these  sham-fights  sometimes  waxed  into  the 
very  reality  of  war. 

The  school  was  about  equally  divided  between 
the  East  and  the  West  ends  of  the  district.  From 
time  immemorial  there  had  come  down  a  rivalry 
between  the  two  parties  in  respect  to  physical 
activity  and  strength.  At  the  close  of  the  school 
in  the  afternoon,  and  at  the  parting  of  the  scholars 
on  their  different  ways  toward  home,  there  were 
almost  always  a  few  farewells  in  the  form  of  a 
sudden  trip-up,  a  dab  of  snow,  or  an  icy-ball  almost 
as  tenderly  soft  and  agreeable  of  contact  as  that 
mellow  thing — a  stone.  These  valedictories  were 
as  courteously  reciprocated  from  the  other  side. 
1  These  slight  skirmishes  would  sometimes  grow 
into  a  general  battle,  when  the  arm  was  not  careful 
to  proportion  the  force  just  so  as  to  touch  and  no 
more,  as  in  a  noon-day  game. 

One  battle  I  recollect,  which  is  worthy  of  being 
commemorated  in  a  book,  at  least  a  book  about 
boyhood,  like  this.  It  is  as  fresh  before  my  mind's 
eye  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday.  To  swell  some- 
what into  the  pompous,  glorious  Waterloo  could  not 
be  remembered  by  its  surviving  heroes  with  greater 
tenacity  or  distinctness. 

It  had  gently  but  steadily  snowed  all  one  De- 
cember night,  and  almost  all  the  next  day.  Owing 


AS    IT    WAS.  Ill 

to  the  weather,  there  were  no  girls  excepting  Cap- 
tain Clark's  two,  and  no  very  small  boys,  at  school. 
The  scholars  had  been  unusually  playful  through 
the  day,  and  had  taken  liberties  which  would  not 
have  been  tolerated  in  the  full  school. 

When  we  were  dismissed  at  night,  the  snow  had 
done  falling,  and  the  ammunition  of  just  the  right 
moisture  lay  in  exhaustless  abundance  on  the 
ground,  all  as  level  as  a  floor  ;  for  there  had  been 
no  wind  to  distribute  unequally  the  gifts  of  the  im- 
partial clouds.  The  first  boy  that  sprang  from  the 
threshold  caught  up  a  quart  of  the  spotless  but 
viscid  material,  and  whitewashed  the  face  of  the 
next  one  at  the  door,  who  happened  to  belong  to 
the  rival  side.  This  was  a  signal  for  general 
action.  As  fast  as  the  troops  poured  out,  they 
rushed  to  the  conflict.  We  had  not  the  coolness 
deliberately  to  arrange  ourselves  in  battle-order,  line 
against  line;  but  each  aimed  at  each  as  he  could, 
no  matter  whom,  how,  or  where,  provided  that  he 
belonged  to  the  "  other  End."  We  did  not  round 
the  snow  into  shape,  but  hurled  and  dashed  it  in 
large  masses,  as  we  happened  to  snatch  or  scoop  it 
up.  As  the  combatants  in  gunpowder  war  are 
hidden  from  each  other  by  clouds  of  their  own  rais- 
ing, so  also  our  warriors  clouded  themselves  from 
sight.  And  there  were  other  obstacles  to  vision  be- 
sides the  discharges  in  the  air  ;  for  one,  or  both  of 
the  eyes  of  us  all  were  glued  up  and  sealed  in  dark- 
ness by  the  damp,  sticky  matter.  The  nasal  and 
auditory  cavities  too  were  temporarily  closed.  And 


112  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

here   and    there    a     mouth,  opening   after  a  little 
breath,  received  the  same  snowy  visitation. 

At  length,  from  putting  snow  into  each  other,  we 
took  to  putting  each  other  into  the  snow.  Not  by 
the  formal  and  deliberate  wrestle,  but  pell-mell, 
hurly-burly,  as  foot,  hand,  or  head  could  find  an 
advantage.  The  combatants  were  covered  with  the 
clinging  element.  It  was  as  if  their  woolen  habili- 
ments had  turned  back  to  their  original  white.  So 
completely  were  we  all  besmeared  by  the  same  ma- 
terial, that  we  could  not  tell  friend  from  foe  in  the 
blind  encounter.  No  matter  for  this ;  we  were  now 
crazed  with  fun  ;  and  we  were  ready  to  carry  it  to 
the  utmost  extent  that  time  and  space  and  snow 
would  admit.  Just  opposite  the  school-house  door, 
the  hill  descended  very  steeply  from  the  road  for 
about  ten  rods.  The  stone  wall  just  here  was  quite 
low,  and  completely  covered  with  snow  even 
before  this  last  fall.  The  two  stoutest  champions 
of  the  fray  had  been  snowing  it  into  each  other 
like  storm-spirits  from  the  two  opposite  poles.  At 
length,  as  if  their  snow-bolts  were  exhausted,  they 
seized  each  other  for  the  tug  of  muscle  with  muscle. 
They  had  unconsciously  worked  themselves  to  the 
precipitous  brink.  Another  stout  fellow  caught  a 
glimpse  of  their  position,  gave  a  rush  and  a  push, 
and  both  Arctic  and  Antarctic  went  tumbling  heels 
hindmost  down  the  steep  declivity,  until  they  were 
stopped  by  the  new-fallen  snow  in  which  they 
were  completely  buried;  and  one  with  his  nose 
downward  as  if  he  had  voluntarily  dived  into  his 


AS    IT   WAS.  113 

own  grave.  This  was  a  signal  for  a  general  push- 
off,  and  the  performer  of  the  sudden  exploit  was  the 
first  to  be  gathered  to  his  victims  below.  In  five 
minutes,  all  were  in  the  same  predicament  but  one, 
who,  not  finding  himself  attacked,  wiped  the  plas- 
ter from  his  eyes,  and  saw  himself  the  lone  hero  of 
the  field.  He  gave  a  victorious  shout ;  then,  not 
liking  solitude  for  a  playmate,  he  made  a  dauntless 
leap  after  the  rest,  who  were  now  thickly  rising 
from  their  snowy  burial  to  life,  action,  and  fun 
anew.  Now  the  game  is  to  put  each  other  down, 
down,  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill.  There  is  pulling, 
pushing,  pitching,  and  whirling,  every  species  of 
manual  attack,  except  the  pugilistic  thump  and 
knock-down.  One  long  lubber  has  fallen  exactly 
parallel  with  the  bottom ;  and,  before  he  can  re- 
cover himself,  two  others  are  rolling  him  down  like 
a  senseless  log,  until  the  lumberers  themselves  are 
pitched  head  first  over  their  timber  by  other  hands 
still  behind  them.  But  at  length  we  are  all  at  the 
bottom  of  the  hill,  and  indeed  at  the  bottom  of  our 
strength.  Which  End,  the  East  or  the  West,  had 
the  day,  could  not  be  determined.  In  one  sense  it 
belonged  to  neither,  for  it  was  night.  We  now 
found  ourselves  in  a  plight  not  particularly  com- 
fortable to  ourselves,  nor  likely  to  be  very  agree- 
able to  the  domestic  guardians  we  must  now  meet. 
But  the  battle  has  been  described,  and  that  is 
enough :  there  is  no  glory  in  the  suffering  that 
succeeds.  - 


114 


THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


CHAPTER    XVII 


THMETIC COMMENCEMENT  —  PROGRESS LATE     IM- 
PROVEMENT   IN    THE    ART    OF    TEACHING. 

AT  the  age  of  twelve,  I  commenced  the  study  of 
Arithmetic,  that  chiefest  of  sciences  in  Yankee  es- 
timation. No  man  is  willing  that  his  son  should  be 
without  skill  in  figures.  And  if  he  does  not  teach 
him  his  A  B  C  at  home,  he  will  the  art  of  counting, 
.at  least.  Many  a  father  deems  it  no  hardship  to 
instruct  his  child  to  enumerate  even  up  to  a  hundred, 
when  it  would  seem  beyond  his  capacity,  or  cer- 
tainly beyond  the  leisure  of  his  rainy  days  and 
winter  evenings,  to  sit  down  with  the  formality  of 
.a  book,  and  teach  him  to  read. 

The  entering  on  arithmetic  was  quite  an  era  in 
ray  school-boy  life.  This  was  placing  me  deci- 
dedly among  the  great  boys,  and  within  hailing 
distance  of  manhood.  My  feelings  were  conse- 
quently considerably  elevated.  A  new  Adams's 
Arithmetic  of  the  latest  edition  was  bought  for  my 
use.  It  was  covered  by  the  maternal  hand  with 
.stout  sheep-skin,  in  the  economical  expectation, 
that,  after  I  had  done  with  it,  it  might  help  still 
younger  heads  to  the  golden  science.  A  quire  of 
foolscap  was  made  to  take  the  form  of  a  manuscript 


AS    IT    WAS.  115 

of  the  full  length  of  the  sheet,  with  a  pasteboard 
cover,  as  more  suitable  to  the  dignity  of  such  su- 
perior dimensions  than  flimsy  brown  paper. 

I  had  also  a  bran  new  slate,  for  Ben  used  father's 
old  one.  It  was  set  in  a  frame  wrought  by  the 
aforesaid  Ben,  who  prided  himself  on  his  knack  at 
tools,  considering  that  he  had  never  served  an  ap- 
prenticeship at  their  use.  There  was  no  lack  of 
timber  in  the  fabrication.  Mark  Martin  said  that 
he  could  make  a  better  frame  with  a  jack-knife  in 
his  left  hand,  and  keep  his  right  in  his  pocket. 

My  first  exercise  was  transcribing  from  my  Arith- 
metic to  my  manuscript.  At  the  top  of  the  first 
page  I  penned  ARITHMETIC,  in  capitals  an  inch 
high,  and  so  broad  that  this  one  word  reached  en- 
tirely across  the  page.  At  a  due  distance  below,  I 
wrote  the  word  ADDITION  in  large,  coarse  hand, 
beginning  with  a  lofty  A,  which  seemed  like  the 
drawing  of  a  mountain  peak,  towering  above  the 
level  wilderness  below.  Then  came  Rule,  in  a 
little  smaller  hand,  so  that  there  was  a  regular  gra- 
dation from  the  enormous  capitals  at  the  top,  down 
to  the  fine  running — no,  hobbling  hand  in  which  I 
wrote  off  the  rule. 

Now  slate  and  pencil  and  brain  came  into  use.  I 
met  with  no  difficulty  at  first ;  Simple  Addition 
was  as  easy  as  counting  my  fingers.  But  there 
was  one  thing  I  could  not  understand — that  carry- 
ing of  tens.  It  was  absolutely  necessary,  I  per- 
ceived, in  order  to  get  the  right  answer ;  yet  it 
was  a  mystery  which  that  arithmetical  oracle,  our 


116 


THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


schoolmaster,  did  not  see  fit  to  explain.  It  is  possi- 
ble that  it  was  a  mystery  to  him.  Then  carne 
Subtraction.  The  borrowing  of  ten  was  another 
unaccountable  operation.  The  reason  seemed  to 
me  then  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  well  of  science  ; 
and  there  it  remained  for  that  winter,  for  no  friendly 
bucket  brought  it  up  to  my  reach. 

Every  rule  was  transcribed  to  my  manuscript, 
and  each  sum  likewise  as  it  stood  proposed  in  the 
book,  and  also  the  whole  process  of  figures  by 
which  the  answer  was  found. 

Each  rule,  moreover,  was,  or  rather  was  to  be, 
committed  to  memory,  word  for  word,  which  to  me 
was  the  most  tedious  and  difficult  job  of  the 
whole. 

I  advanced  as  far  as  Reduction  this  first  winter, 
and  a  third  through  my  manuscript,  perhaps.  The 
end  of  the  Arithmetic  seemed  almost  as  far  off  in 
the  future  as  that  end  of  boyhood  and  under-age 
restraint,  twenty-one. 

The  next  winter  I  began  at  Addition  again,  to 
advance  just  through  Interest.  My  third  season  I 
went  over  the  same  ground  again,  and,  besides 
that,  ciphered  to  the  very  last  sum  in  the  Rule  of 
Three.  This  was  deemed  quite  an  achievement 
for  a  lad  only  fourteen  years  old,  according  to  the 
ideas  prevailing  at  that  period.  Indeed  I  was  now 
fitted  to  figure  on  and  fill  up  the  blank  pages  of 
manhood,  to  solve  the  hard  question  how  much 
money  I  should  be  worth  in  the  course  of  years. 
In  plain  language,  whoever  ciphered  through  the 


AS    IT    WAS.  117 

above-mentioned  rule  was  supposed  to  have  arith- 
metic enough  for  the  common  purposes  of  life.  If 
one  proceeded  a  few  rules  beyond  this,^he  was  con- 
sidered quite  smart.  But  if  he  went  clear  through 
— Miscellaneous  Questions  and  all — he  was  thought 
to  have  an  extraordinary  taste  and  genius  for 
figures.  Now  and  then,  a  youth,  after  having  been 
through  Adams,  entered  upon  old  Pike,  the  arith- 
metical sage  who  "set  the  sums"  for  the  preced- 
ing generation.  Such  were  called  great  "  arithme- 
ticians." 

The  fourth  winter  I  advanced — but  it  is  not  im- 
portant to  the  purpose  of  this  work  that  I  should 
record  the  minutiae  of  my  progress  in  the  science 
of  numbers.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  I  was  not  one 
of  the  "  great  at  figures." 

The  female  portion  of  the  school,  we  may  sup- 
pose, generally  expected  to  obtain  husbands  to  per- 
form whatever  arithmetical  operations  they  might 
need,  beyond  the  counting  of  fingers  :  so  ttie  science 
found  no  special  favor  with  them.  If  pursued  at 
all,  it  was  neglected  till  the  last  year  or  two  of 
their  schooling.  Most  were  provident  enough  to 
cipher  as  far  as  through  the  four  simple  rules  ;  for 
although  they  had  no  idea  of  becoming  old  maids, 
they  might  possibly,  however,  be  left  widows. 
Had  arithmetic  been  pursued  at  the  summer  school, 
those  who  intended  to  be  summer  teachers  would 
probably  have  thought  more  of  the  science,  and 
have  proceeded  further,  even  perhaps  to  the  Rule 
of  Three.  But  a  schoolmistress  would  as  soon  have 


118  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

expected  to  teach  the  Arabic  language  as  the 
numerical  science.  So,  ignorance  of  it  was  no  dis- 
honor even  to  the  first  and  best  of  the  sex. 

Bat  what  a  change  have  the  last  few  years  pro- 
duced in  respect  to  this  subject !  Honor  and  grati- 
tude be  to  Pestalozzi ;  thanks  be  to  our  countrymen, 
Colburn,  Emerson,  and  others,  for  making  what 
was  the  hardest  and  driest  of  studies,  one  of  the 
easiest  and  most  interesting.  They  have  at  length 
tackled  the  intellectual  team  aright ;  have  put  the 
carriage  behind  the  carrier ;  pshaw !  this  over- 
refinement  spoils  the  illustration — the  cart  behind 
the  horse,  where  it  ought  always  to  have  been. 
Formerly,  memory,  the  mind's  baggage-waggon — 
to  change  the  word,  but  continue  the  figure — was 
loaded  with  rules,  rules,  words,  words,  to  top-heavi- 
ness, and  sent  lumbering  along  ;  while  the  under- 
standing, which  should  have  been  the  living  and 
spirited  mover  of  the  vehicle,  was  kept  ill-fed  and 
lean,  and  put  loosely  behind,  to  push  after  it  as  it 
could. 


AS    IT    WAS.  119 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

AUGUSTUS  STARR,  THE  PRIVATEER  WHO  TURNED  PEDA- 
GOGUE—  HIS  NEW  CREW  MUTINY,  AND  PERFORM  A  SIN- 
GULAR EXPLOIT. 

MY  tenth  winter,  our  school  was  put  under  the 
instruction  of  a  person  named  Augustus  Starr. 
He  was  a  native  of  a  neighboring  town,  and  had 
before  been  acquainted  with  the  committee.  He 
had  taught  school  some  years  before,  but,  for  the 
last  few  years,  had  been  engaged  in  a  business  not 
particularly  conducive  to  improvement  in  the  art  of 
teaching.  He  had  been  an  inferior  officer  aboard 
a  privateer  in  the  late  war,  which  terminated  only 
the  winter  before.  At  the  return  of  peace,  he 
betook  himself  to  land  again  ;  and,  till  something 
more  suitable  to  his  tastes  and  habits  should  offer, 
he  concluded  to  resume  school-keeping,  at  least  for 
one  winter.  He  came  to  our  town  ;  and,  finding 
an  old  acquaintance  seeking  for  a  teacher,  he  offered 
himself,  and  was  accepted.  He  was  rather  gen- 
teelly dressed,  and  gentlemanly  in  his  manners. 

Mr.  Starr  soon  manifested  that  stern  command, 
rather  than  mild  persuasion,  had  been  his  method 
of  preserving  order,  and  was  to  be,  still.  This 
would  have  been  put  up  with  j  but  he  soon  showed 


120  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

that  he  could  deal  in  blows  as  well  as  words,  and 
these  not  merely  with  the  customary  ferule,  or 
supple  and  tingling  stick,  but  with  whatever  came 
to  hand.  He  knocked  one  lad  down  with  his  fist, 
hurled  a  stick  of  wood  at  another,  which  missed 
breaking  his  head  because  it  struck  the  ceiling, 
making  a  dent  which  fearfully  indicated  what 
would  have  been  the  consequence  had  the  skull 
been  hit.  The  scholars  were  terrified,  parents  were 
alarmed,  and  some  kept  their  younger  children  at 
home.  There  was  an  uproar  in  the  district.  A 
school-meeting  was  threatened  for  the  purpose  of 
dismissing  the  captain,  as  he  began  to  be  called,  in 
reference  to  the  station  he  had  lately  filled,  although 
it  was  not  a  captaincy.  But  he  commanded  the 
school-house  crew  :  so,  in  speaking  of  him,  they 
gave  him  a  corresponding  title.  In  consequence  of 
these  indications,  our  officer  became  less  dangerous 
in  his  modes  of  punishment,  and  was  permitted  to 
continue  still  in  command.  But  he  was  terribly 
severe,  nevertheless  ;  and  in  his  words  of  menace, 
he  manifested  no  particular  respect  for  that  one  of 
the  ten  commandments  which  forbids  profanity. 
But  he  took  pains  with  his  pupils,  and  they  made 
considerable  progress  according  to  the  prevailing 
notions  of  education. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  school,  however,  Starr's 
fractious  temper,  his  cuffs,  thumps,  and  cudgelings, 
waxed  dangerous  again.  There  were  signs  of 
mutiny  among  the  large  scholars,  and  there  were 
provocations  and  loud  talk  among  parents.  The 


AS    IT    WAS.  121 

man  of  violence,  even  at  this  late  period,  would 
have  been  dismissed  by  the  authority  of  the  district, 
had  not  a  sudden  and  less  formal  ejection  overtaken 
him. 

The  captain  had  been  outrageously  severe,  and 
even  cruel,  to  some  of  the  smaller  boys.  The 
older  brothers  of  the  sufferers,  with  others  of  the 
back  seat,  declared  among  themselves,  that  they 
would  put  him  by  force  out  of  the  school-house,  if 
any  thing  of  the  like  should  happen  again.  The 
very  afternoon  succeeding  this  resolution,  an  oppor- 
tunity offered  to  put  it  to  the  test.  John  Howe,  for 
some  trifling  misdemeanor,  received  a  cut  with  the 
edge  of  the  ruler  on  his  head,  which  drew  blood*.  / 
The  dripping  wound  and  the  scream  of  the  boy 
were  a  signal  for  action,  as  if  a  murderer  were  at 
his  fell  deed  before  their  eyes.  Thomas  Howe, 
one  of  the  oldest  in  the  school  and  the  brother  of 
the  abused,  and  Mark  Martin,  were  at  the  side  of 
our  privateer  in  an  instant.  Two  others  followed. 
His  ruler  was  wrested  from  his  hand,  and  he  was 
seized  by  his  legs  and  shoulders,  before  he  could 
scarcely  think  into  what  hands  he  had  fallen.  He 
was  carried,  kicking  and  swearing,  out  of  doors. 
But  this  was  not  the  end  of  his  headlong  and  hor- 
izontal career.  "  To  the  side-hill,  to  the  side-hill," 
cried  Mark,  who  had  him  by  the  head.  Now  it  so 
happened  that  the  hill-side  opposite  the  school-house 
door  was  crusted,  and  as  smooth  and  slippery  as 
pure  ice,  from  a  recent  rain.  To  this  pitch,  then, 
he  was  borne,  and  in  all  the  haste  that  his  violent 
11 


122  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

struggles  would  permit.  Over  he  was  thrust,  as  if 
he  were  a  log;  and  down  he  went,  giving  one  of 
his  bearers  a  kick  as  he  was  shoved  from  their 
hands,  which  action  of  the  foot  sent  him  more 
swiftly  on  his  way  from  the  rebound.  There  was 
no  bush  or  stone  to  catch  by  in  his  descent,  and  he 
clawed  the  unyielding  crust  with  his  nails,  for  the 
want  of  anything  more  prominent  on  which  to 
lay  hold.  Down,  down  he  went.  Oh  for  a  pile  of 
stones  or  a  thicket  of  thorns  to  cling  to,  even  at 
the  expense  of  torn  apparel  or  scratched  fingers ! 
Down,  down  he  went,  until  he  fairly  came  to  the 
climax,  or  rather  anti-climax,  of  his  pedagogical 
career.  Mark  Martin,  who  retained  singular  self- 
possession,  cried  out,  "  There  goes  a  shooting 
star." 

When  our  master  had  come  to  a  "  period  or  full 
stop,"  to  quote  from  the  spelling  book,  he  lay  a 
moment  as  if  he  had  left  his  breath  behind  him,  or 
as  if  querying  whether  he  should  consider  himself 
alive  or  not;  or  perhaps  whether  it  were  really  his 
own  honorable  self  who  had  been  voyaging  in  this 
uriseamanlike  fashion,  or  somebody  else.  Perhaps 
he  was  at  a  loss  for  the  points  of  compass,  as  is 
often  the  case  in  tumbles  and  topsy-turvies.  He  at 
length  arose  and  stood  upright,  facing  the  ship  of 
literature  which  he  had  lately  commanded;  and  his 
mutinous  crew,  great  and  small,  male  and  female, 
now  lining  the  side  of  the  road  next  to  the 
declivity,  from  which  most  of  them  had  witnessed 
his  expedition.  The  movement  had  been  so  sud- 


AS    IT    WAS.  123 

den,  and  the  ejection  so  unanticipated  by  the  school 
in  general,  that  they  were  stupefied  with  amaze- 
ment. And  the  bold  performers  of  the  exploit 
were  almost  as  much  amazed  as  the  rest,  excepting 
Mark,  who  still  retained  coolness  enough  for  his 
joke.  "  What  think  of  the  coasting  trade,  captain  ?  " 
shouted  Mark  ;  "  is  it  as  profitable  as  privateering  ?  " 
Our  coaster  made  no  reply,  but  turned  in  pursuit  of 
a  convenient  footing  to  get  up  into  the  road,  and  to 
the  school-house  again.  While  he  was  at  a  dis- 
tance approaching  his  late  station  of  command, 
Mark  Martin  stepped  forward  to  hold  a  parley  with 
him.  "  We  have  a  word  to  say  to  you,  sir,  before 
you  come  much  farther.  If  you  will  come  back 
peaceably,  you  may  come ;  but  as  sure  as  you 
meddle  with  any  of  us,  we  will  make  you  acquaint- 
ed with  the  heft  and  the  hardness  of  our  fists,  and 
of  stones  and  clubs  too,  if  we  must.  The  ship  is 
no  longer  yours  ;  so  look  out,  for  we  are  our  own 
men  now."  Starr  replied,  "  I  do  not  wish  to  have 
anything  more  to  do  with  the  school ;  but  there  is 
another  law  besides  club  law,  and  that  you  have 
got  to  take."  But  when  he  came  up  and  saw  John 
Howe's  face  stained  with  blood,  and  his  head  bound 
up  as  if  it  had  received  the  stroke  of  a  cutlass,  he 
began  to  look  rather  blank.  Our  spokesman  re- 
minded him  of  what  he  had  done,  and  inquired, 
"  which  is  the  worst,  a  ride  and  a  slide,  or  a 
gashed  head  ?  "  "I  rather  guess  that  you  are  the 
one  to  look  out  for  the  law,"  said  Thomas  Howe, 
with  a  threatening  tone  and  look.  Whether  this 


124  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

hint  had  effect,  I  know  not,  but  he  never  com- 
menced a  prosecution.  He  gathered  up  his  goods 
and  chattels,  and  left  the  school-house.  The 
scholars  gathered  up  their  implements  of  learning, 
and  left  likewise,  after  the  boys  had  taken  one  more 
glorious  slide  down  hill. 

There  were  both  gladness  and  regret  in  that  dis- 
persion ; — gladness  that  they  had  no  more  broken 
heads,  shattered  hands,  and  skinned  backs  to  fear ; 
and  regret  that  the  season  of  schooling,  and  of 
social  and  delightful  play,  had  been  cut  short  by  a 
week. 

The  news  reached  most  of  the  district  in  the 
course  of  the  next  day,  that  our  "  man  of  war,"  as 
he  was  sometimes  called,  had  sailed  out  of  port  the 
night  before. 


AS    IT    WAS. 


]25 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

ELEVENTH    WINTER MR.  SILVERSON,  OUR  FIRST  TEACHER 

FROM     COLLEGE — HIS     BLUNDER    AT     MEETING    ON    THE 
SABBATH HIS    CHARACTER   AS    A    SCHOOLMASTER. 

THIS  winter,  Major  Allen  was  the  committee  ; 
and  of  course,  every  body  expected  a  dear  master, 
if  not  a  good  one  j  he  had  always  expressed  him- 
self so  decidedly  against  "yonr  cheap  trash." 
They  were  not  disappointed.  They  had  a  dear 
master,  high  priced  arid  not  much  worth.  Major 
Allen  sent  to  college  for  an  instructor,  as  a  young 
gentleman  from  such  an  institution  must  of  course 
be  qualified  as  to  learning,  and  would  give  a  higher 
tone  to  the  school.  He  had  good  reason  for  the  ex- 
pectationj  as  a  gentleman  from  the  same  institution 
had  taught  the  two  preceding  winters  in  another 
town  where  Major  Allen  was  intimately  acquainted, 
and  gave  the  highest  satisfaction.  But  he  was  a 
very  different  sort  of  person  from  Mr.  Frederic  Sil- 

verson,  of  the  city  of ,  member  of  the  junior 

class  in College.     This  young  gentleman  did 

riot  teach  eight  weeks,  at  eighteen  dollars  per 
month,  for  the  sake  of  the  trifling  sum  to  pay  his 
college  bills,  and  help  him  to  rub  a  little  more  easily 
through.  He  kept  for  fun,  as  he  told  his  fellow 
11* 


126  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

bucks ;  that  is,  to  see  the  fashions  of  country  life, 
to  "  cut  capers"  among  folks  whose  opinion  he 
didn't  care  for,  and  to  bring  back  something  to  laugh 
about  all  the  next  term.  The  money,  too,  was  a 
consideration,  as  it  would  pay  a  bill  or  two  which 
he  preferred  that  his  very  indulgent  father  should 
not  know  of. 

Major  Allen  had  written  to  some  of  the  college 
authorities  for  an  instructor,  not  doubting  that  he 
should  obtain  one  of  proved  worth,  or  at  least  one 
who  had  been  acquainted  with  country  schools  in 
his  boyhood,  and  would  undertake  with  such  mo- 
tives as  would  ensure  a  faithful  discharge  of  his 
duties.  But  a  tutor,  an  intimate  acquaintance  of 
Silverson's  family,  was  requested  to  aid  the  self- 
rusticating  son  to  a  school ;  so  by  this  means  this 
city  beau  and  college  buck  was  sent  to  preside  over 
our  district  seminary  of  letters. 

Well,  Mr.  Silverson  arrived  on  Saturday  evening 
at  Capt.  Clark's.  Sunday,  he  went  to  meeting. 
He  was,  indeed,  a  very  genteel-looking  personage, 
and  caused  quite  a  sensation  among  the  young 
people  in  our  meeting-house,  especially  those  of  our 
district.  He  was  tall,  but  rather  slender,  with  a 
delicate  skin,  and  a  cheek  whose  roses  had  not 
been  uprooted  from  their  native  bed  by  what,  in 
college,  is  called  hard  digging.  His  hair  was  cut 
and  combed  in  the  newest  fashion,  as  was  supposed, 
being  arranged  very  differently  from  that  of  our 
young  men.  Then  he  wore  a  cloak  of  many-col- 
ored plaid,  in  which  flaming  red,  however,  was 


AS    IT    WAS.  127 

predominant.  A  plaid  cloak — this  was  a  new 
thing  in  our  obscure  town  at  that  period,  and 
struck  ns  with  admiration.  We  had  seen  nothing 
but  surtouts  and  great  coats  from  our  fathers'  sheep 
and  our  mothers'  looms.  His  cravat  was  tied  be- 
hind;  this  was  another  novelty.  We  had  never 
dreamed  but  that  the  knot  should  be  made,  and  the 
ends  should  dangle  beneath  /the  chin.  Then  his 
bosom  flourished  with  a  ruffle,  and  glistened  with  a 
breast-pin,  such  as  were  seldom  seen  so  far  among 
the  hills. 

Capt.  Clark  unconsciously  assumed  a  stateliness 
of  gait  unusual  to  him,  as  he  led  the  way  up  the 
centre  aisle,  introduced  the  gentleman  into  his 
pew,  and  gave  him  his  own  seat,  that  is,  next  the 
aisle,  and  the  most  respectable  in  the  pew.  The 
young  gentleman,  not  having  been  accustomed  to 
such  deference  in  public,  was  a  little  confused  ;  and 
when  he  heard,  "  That  is  the  new  master,"  whis- 
pered very  distinctly  by  some  one  near,  and,  on 
looking  up,  saw  himself  the  centre  of  an  all-sur- 
rounding stare,  he  was  smitten  with  a  fit  of  bash- 
fulness,  such  as  he  had  never  felt  before.  So  he 
quiddled  with  his  fingers,  sucked  and  bit  his  lips, 
as  a  relief  to  his  feelings,  the  same  as  those  rustic 
starers  would  have  done  at  a  splendid  party  in  his 
mother's  drawing-rooms.  During  singing,  he  was 
intent  on  the  hymn-book,  in  the  prayer  he  bent 
over  the  pew-side,  and  during  the  sermon  looked 
straight  at  the  preacher — a  church-like  deportment 
which  he  had  never,  perhaps,  manifested  before, 


128  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

and  probably  may  never  have  since.  He  was  cer- 
tainly not  so  severely  decorous  in  that  meeting- 
house again.  After  the  forenoon  services,  he  com- 
mitted a  most  egregious  blunder,  by  which  his 
bashfulness  was  swallowed  up  in  shame.  It  was 
the  custom  in  country  towns  then,  for  all  who  sat 
upon  the  centre  or  broad  aisle,  as  it  was  called,  to 
remain  in  their  pews  till  the  reverend  man  of  the 
pulpit  had  passed  along  by.  Our  city-bred  gentle- 
man was  not  apprised  of  this  etiquette  ;  for  it  did 
not  prevail  in  the  metropolis.  Well,  as  soon  as  the 
last  amen  was  pronounced,  Capt.  Clark  politely 
handed  him  his  hat  ;  and,  being  next  to  the  pew 
door,  he  supposed  he  must  make  his  egress  first. 
He  stepped  out,  arid  had  gone  several  feet  down 
the  aisle,  when  he  observed  old  and  young  stand- 
ing in  their  pews  on  both  sides,  in  front  of  his  ad- 
vance, staring  at  him  as  if  surprised,  and  some  of 
them  with  an  incipient  laugh.  He  turned  his  head, 
and  gave  a  glance  back  ;  and,  behold,  he  was  alone 
in  the  long  avenue,  with  a  double  line  of  eyes  aimed 
at  him  from  behind  as  well  as  before.  All  seemed 
waiting  for  the  minister,  who  by  this  time  had  just 
reached  the  foot  of  the  pulpit  stairs.  He  was  con- 
founded with  a  consciousness  of  his  mistake. 
Should  he  keep  on  or  return  to  the  pew,  was  a  mo- 
mentary question.  It  was  a  dilemma  worse  than 
any  in  logic:  it  was  a  severe  "screw."*  But 

*  When  a  scholar  gets  considerably  puzzled  in  recitation,  he  is 
said  in  college  to  take  a  screw.  When  he  is  so  ignorant  of  his  les- 
son as  not  to  be  able  to  recite  at  all,  he  takes  a  dead  set. 


AS    IT    WAS.  129 

finally,  back  he  was  going,  when,  behold,  Capt. 
Clark's  pew  was  blocked  up  by  the  out-poured  and 
out-pouring  throng  of  people,  with  the  minister  at 
their  head.  This  was  a  complete  "dead  set," 
"above  all  Greek,  above  all  Roman  fame."  What 
should  he  do  now  ?  He  wheeled  again,  dropped 
his  head,  put  his  left  hand  to  his  face,  and  went 
crouching  down  the  aisle,  and  out  of  the  door,  like 
a  boy  going  out  with  the  nose-bleed. 

On  the  ensuing  morning,  our  collegian  com- 
menced school.  He  had  never  taught,  and  had 
never  resided  in  the  country  before.  He  had  ac- 
quired a  knowledge  of  the  daily  routine  usually 
pursued  in  school,  from  a  class-mate  who  had  some 
experience  in  the  vocation  ;  so  he  began  things 
right  end  foremost,  and  finished  at  the  other  ex- 
tremity in  due  order  ;  but  they  were  most  clumsily 
handled  all  the  way  through.  His  first  fault  was 
exceeding  indolence.  He  had  escaped  beyond  the 
call  of  the  morning  prayer-bell,  that  had  roused  him 
at  dawn,  and  he  seemed  resolved  to  replenish  his 
nature  with  sleep.  He  was  generally  awakened  to 
the  consciousness  of  being  a  schoolmaster  by  the 
ringing  shouts  of  his  waiting  pupils.  Then  a  coun- 
try breakfast  was  too  delicious  a  contrast  to  college 
commons  to  be  cut  short.  Thus  that  point  of  du-, 
ration  called  nine  o'clock,  and  school-time,  often 
approximated  exceedingly  near  to  ten  that  winter. 

Mr.  Silverson  did  not  visit  in  the  several  families 
of  the  district,  as  most  of  his  predecessors  had  done. 
He  would  have  been  pleased  to  visit  at  every  house, 


130  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

for  he  was  socially  inclined ;  and  what  was  more, 
he  desired  to  pick  up  "  food  for  fun"  when  he  should 
return  to  college.  But  the  people  did  not  think 
themselves  "smart"  enough  to  entertain  a  collegian, 

and  the  son   of  the   rich  Mr ,  of  the  city  of 

,  besides.     Or,  perhaps,  what  is  coming  nearer 

the  precise  truth,  his  habits  and  pursuits  were  so 
different  from  theirs,  that  they  did  not  know  ex- 
actly how  to  get  at  him,  and  in  what  manner  to  at- 
tempt to  entertain  him  ;  and  he,  on  the  other  hand, 
did  not  know  how  to  fall  into  the  train  of  their  as- 
sociations in  his  conversation,  so  as  to  make  them 
feel  at  ease,  and,  as  it  were,  at  home  with  him. 
Another  circumstance  ought  to  be  mentioned,  per- 
haps. The  people  very  soon  contracted  a  growing 
prejudice  against  our  schoolmaster,  on  account  of  his 
very  evident  unfitness  for  his  present  vocation,  and 
especially  his  unpardonable  indolence  and  neglect 
of  duty. 

So  Mr.  Silverson  was  not  invited  out,  excepting 
by  Major  Allen,  who  engaged  him,  and  by  two  or 
three  others  who  chanced  to  come  in  contact  with 
him,  and  to  find  him  more  sociably  disposed,  and  a 
less  formidable  personage,  than  they  anticipated. 
He  spent  most  of  his  evenings,  therefore,  at  his 
boarding-place,  with  one  volume  in  his  hand,  gen- 
erally that  of  a  novel,  and  another  volume  issuing 
from  his  rnouth, — that  of  smoke  ;  and,  as  his  chief 
object  was  just  to  kill  time,  he  was  not  careful  that 
the  former  should  not  be  as  fumy,  as  baseless,  and 
as  unprofitable  as  the  latter.  As  for  the  Greek, 


AS    IT    WAS.  131 

Latin,  and  mathematics,  to  which  he  should  have 
devoted  some  portion  of  his  time,  according  to  the 
college  regulations,  he  never  looked  at  them  till  his 
return.  Then  he  just  glanced  them  over,  and 
trusted  luck  when  he  was  examined  for  two  weeks' 
study,  as  he  had  done  a  hundred  times  before  at 
his  daily  recitation. 

What  our  young  college  buck  carried  back  to 
laugh  about  all  the  next  term,  I  do  riot  know,  un- 
less it  was  his  own  dear  self,  for  being  so  foolish 
as  to  undertake  a  business  for  which  he  was  so 
utterly  unfit,  and  from  which  he  derived  so  little 
pleasure,  compared  with  his  anticipations. 

Before  closing  this  chapter,  I  would  caution  the 
reader  not  to  take  the  subject  of  it  as  a  specimen  of 
all  heirs  of  city  opulence  who  are,  or  have -been, 
members  of  college,  and  have  perhaps  attempted 
country  school-keeping.  I  have  known  many  of 
very  different  stamp.  One  gentleman  in  particular 
rises  to  recollection,  the  son  of  very  affluent  but 
also  very  judicious  parents.  While  a  student  in 
college,  he  took  a  district  school  for  the  winter  va- 
cation. His  chief  purpose  was  to  add  to  his  stores 
of  valuable  knowledge,  and  prepare  himself  for 
wider  usefulness.  He  would  not  study  the  things 
of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome,  and  of  modern  Eu- 
rope, and  neglect  the  customs  and  manners,  and  the 
habits  of  thinking  and  feeling,  characteristic  of  his 
own  nation.  But  his  own  nation  were  substantially 
the  farmers  and  mechanics  scattered  on  the  hills 
and  along  the  valleys  of  the  country.  To  the 


132  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

country  he  must  therefore  go,  and  into  the  midst  of 
their  very  domestic  circles  to  study  them.  But  he 
did  not  seek  this  advantage  to  the  disadvantage  of 
the  school  committed  to  his  charge.  He  endeav- 
ored to  make  himself  acquainted  with  his  duties  as 
much  as  he  conveniently  could  beforehand,  and 
then  he  devoted  himself  assiduously  to  them.  In 
the  instruction  of  the  young  he  derived  a  benefit 
additional  to  his  principal  object  in  taking  the 
school.  He  learned  the  art  of  communication, — 
of  adapting  himself  to  minds  differing  in  capacity 
and  cultivation  from  his  own.  In  this  way  he  ac- 
quired a  tact  in  addressing  the  young  and  the  less 
intelligent  among  the  grown-up,  which  is  now  not 
only  a  gratification,  but  of  great  use.  He  became, 
moreover,  interested  in  the  great  subject  of  educa- 
tion more  than  he  otherwise  would, — the  education 
of  the  great  mass  of  the  people,  so  that  now  he  is 
one  of  the  most  ardent  and  efficient  agents  iii  the 
patriotic  and  benevolent  work. 

This  gentleman  was  exceedingly  liked  as  a 
teacher,  and  was  very  popular  as  a  visitor  in  the 
families  of  the  district.  "  He  seems  so  like  one  of 
MS.  He  hasn't  an  atom  of  pride."  Such  were  the 
frequent  remarks.  And  this  was  what  they  did 
not  expect  of  a  collegian,  city  born,  and  the  son  of 
one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  State. 

He  has  often  remarked  since,  that  these  two 
months  spent  in  a  district  school  and  country 
neighborhood  were  of  as  much  value  to  him  as  any 
two  months  of  his  life  ;  indeed,  of  more  value  than 


AS    IT    WAS.  133 

any  single  year  of  his  life.  His  books  enriched 
and  disciplined  his  mind,  perhaps  ;  but  this  ming- 
ling with  the  middle  rank,  of  which  the  great  ma- 
jority is  composed,  more  thoroughly  Americanized 
his  mind.  By  his  residence  among  the  country 
people,  he  learned  to  do  what  should  be  done  by 
every  citizen  of  the  United  States,  however  dis- 
tinguished by  birth,  wealth,  talents  or  education  : 
learned  to  identify  himself  with  the  great  body  of 
the  nation,  to  consider  himself  as  "one  of  the 
people." 


12 


134  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


CHAPTER   XX. 

A    COLLEGE    MASTER    AGAIN — HIS    CHARACTER    IN    SCHOOL 

AND     OUT OUR     FIRST     ATTEMPTS    AT     COMPOSITION 

BRIEF    SKETCH    OF    ANOTHER   TEACHER. 

Mr  twelfth  winter  has  arrived.  It  was  thought 
best  to  try  a  teacher  from  college  again,  as  the  com- 
mittee had  been  assured  that  there  were  teachers  to 
be  found  there  of  the  first  order,  and  well  worth 
the  high  price  they  demanded  for  their  services.  A 
Mr.  Ellis  was  engaged  at  twenty  dollars  per  month, 
from  the  same  institution  mentioned  before.  Par- 
ticular pains  were  taken  to  ascertain  the  college 
character,  and  the  school-keeping  experience  of  the 
gentleman,  before  his  engagement,  and  they  were 
such  as  to  warrant  the  highest  expectations. 

The  instructor  was  to  board  round  in  the  several 
families  of  the  district,  who  gave  the  board  in 
order  to  lengthen  the  school  to  the  usual  term.  It 
happened  that  he  was  to  be  at  our  house  the  first 
week.  On  Saturday  Mr.  Ellis  arrived.  It  was  a 
great  event  to  us  children  for  the  master  to  stop  at 
our  house,  and  one  from  college  too.  Wg  were 
smitten  with  bashfulness,  and  stiffened  into  an  awk- 
wardness unusual  with  us,  even  among  strangers. 
But  this  did  not  last  long.  Our  guest  put  us  all  at 


AS    IT    WAS.  135 

ease  very  soon.  He  seemed  just  like  one  of  us,  or 
like  some  unpuffed-iip  uncle  from  geriteeler  life, 
who  had  dropped  in  upon  us  for  a  night,  with  cor- 
dial heart,  chatty  tongue,  and  merry  laugh.  He 
seemed  perfectly  acquainted  with  our  prevailing 
thoughts  and  feelings,  and  let  his  conversation  slide 
into  the  current  they  flowed  in,  as  easily  as  if  he 
had  never  been  nearer  college  than  we  ourselves. 
With  my  father  he  talked  about  the  price  of  pro- 
duce, the  various  processes  and  improvements  in 
agriculture,  and  the  politics  of  the  day,  and  such 
other  topics  as  would  be  likely  to  interest  a  farmer 
so  far  in  the  country.  And  those  topics,  indeed, 
were  not  a  few.  Some  students  would  have  sat  in 
dignified  or  rather  dumpish  silence,  and  have  gone 
to  bed  by  mid-evening,  simply  because  those  who 
sat  with  them  could  not  discourse  on  those  deep 
things  of  science,  and  lofty  matters  of  literature, 
which  were  particularly  interesting  to  themselves. 
With  my  mother  Mr.  Ellis  talked  at  first  about  her 
children.  He  patted  a  little  brother  on  his  cheek, 
took  a  sister  on  his  knee,  and  inquired  the  baby's 
name.  Then  he  drew  forth  a  housewifely  strain 
concerning  various  matters  in  country  domestic  life. 
Of  me  he  inquired  respecting  my  studies  at  school 
years  past  ;  and  even  condescended  to  speak  of  his 
own  boyhood  and  youth,  and  of  the  sports  as  well 
as  the  duties  of  school.  The  fact  is,  that  Mr.  Ellis 
had  always  lived  in  the  country  till  three  years 
past;  his  mind  was  full  of  rural  remembrances ;  and 
he  knew  just  how  to  take  us  to  be  agreeable  him- 
self, and  to  elicit  entertainment  in  return. 


136  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

Mr.  Ellis  showed  himself  at  home  in  school,  as 
well  as  at  the  domestic  fireside.  He  was  perfectly 
familiar  with  his  duties,  as  custom  had  prescribed 
them,  but  he  did  not  abide  altogether  by  the  old 
usages.  He  spent  much  time  in  explaining  those 
rules  in  arithmetic  and  grammar,  and  those  passages 
in  the  spelling-book,  with  which  we  had  hitherto 
lumbered  our  memories. 

This  teacher  introduced  a  new  exercise  into  our 
school,  that  we  had  never  thought  of  before  as  be- 
ing possible  to  ourselves.  It  was  composition.  We 
hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  it.  To  write — to 
put  sentence  after  sentence  like  a  newspaper,  a 
book,  or  a  sermon — oh  !  we  could  not  do  this ;  we 
could  not  think  of  such  a  thing ;  indeed,  it  was  an 
impossibility.  But  we  must  try,  at  any  rate.  The 
subject  given  out  for  this  novel  use  of  thought  and 
pen  was  friendship.  Friendship — what  had  we  to 
say  on  this  subject  ?  We  could  feel  on  it,  perhaps, 
especially  those  of  us  who  had  read  a  novel  or  two, 
and  had  dreamed  of  eternal  friendship.  But  we 
had  not  a  single  idea.  Friendship  !  oh  !  it  is  a  de- 
lightful thing  !  This,  or  something  similar,  was 
about  all  we  poor  creatures  could  think  of.  What 
a  spectacle  -  of  wretchedness  did  we  present !  A 
stranger  would  have  supposed  us  all  smitten  with 
the  toothache,  by  the  agony  expressed  in  the  face. 
One  poor  girl  put  her  head  down  into  a  comer,  and 
cried  till  the  master  excused  her.  And,  finally, 
finding  that  neither  smiles  nor  frowns  would  put 
ideas  into  our  heads,  he  let  us  go  for  that  week. 


AS    IT    WAS.  137 

In  about  a  fortnight,  to  our  horror,  the  exercise 
was  proposed  again.  But  it  was  only  to  write  a 
letter.  Any  one  could  do  as  much  as  this,  the 
master  said  ;  for  almost  every  one  had  occasion  to 
do  it  in  the  course  of  life.  Indeed,  we  thought,  on 
the  whole,  that  we  could  write  a  letter,  so  at  it  we 
went  with  considerable  alacrity.  But  our  attempts 
at  the  epistolary  were  nothing  like  those  spirited, 
and  even  witty,  products  of  thought  which  used 
ever  to  be  flying  from  seat  to  seat  in  the  shape  of 
billets.  The  sprightly  fancy  and  the  gushing  heart 
seemed  to  have  been  chilled  and  deadened  by  the 
reflection  that  a  letter  must  be  written,  and  the 
master  must  see  it.  These  episotlary  compositions 
generally  began,  continued,  and  closed  all  in  the 
same  way,  as  if  all  had  got  the  same  recipe  from, 
their  grandmothers  for  letter  writing.  They  mostly 
commenced  in  this  manner :  "  Dear  friend,  I  take 
my  pen  in  hand  to  inform  you  that  I  am  well,  and 
hope  you  are  enjoying  the  same  blessing."  Then, 
there  would  be  added,  perhaps,  "  We  have  a  very 
good  schoolmaster ;  have  you  a  good  one  ?  How 
long  has  your  school  got  to  keep  ?  We  have  had  a 
terrible  stormy  time  on't,"  &c.  Mark  Martin  ad- 
dressed the  master  in  his  epistle.  What  its  contents 
were  I  could  not  find  out ;  but  I  saw  Mr.  Ellis  read 
it.  At  first  he  looked  grave,  as  at  the  assurance  of 
the  youth;  then  a  little  severe,  as  if  his  dignity 
was  outraged  ;  but  in  a  moment  he  smiled,  and 
finally  he  almost  burst  out  with  laughter  at  some 
closing  witticism. 
12* 


138  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

Mark's  was  the  only  composition  that  had  any 
nature  and  soul  in  it.  He  wrote  what  he  thought, 
instead  of  thinking  what  to  write,  like  the  rest  of 
us,  who,  in  the  effort,  thought  just  nothing  at  all  j 
for  we  wrote  words  which  we  had  seen  written  a 
hundred  times  before. 

Mr.  Ellis  succeeded  in  delivering  us  from  our 
stale  and  flat  formalities  before  he  had  done.  He 
gave  us  no  more  such  abstract  and  lack-idea  subjects 
as  friendship.  He  learned  better  how  to  accommo- 
date the  theme  to  the  youthful  mind.  We  were  set 
to  describe  what  we  had  seen  with  our  eyes,  heard 
with  our  ears,  and  what  had  particularly  interested 
our  feelings  at  one  time  and  another.  One  boy 
described  the  process  of  cider-making.  Another 
gave  an  account  of  a  squirrel-hunt;  another  of  a 
great  husking;  each  of  which  had  been  witnessed 
the  autumn  before.  The  girls  described  certain 
domestic  operations.  One,  I  remember,  gave  quite 
an  amusing  account  of  the  coming  and  going,  and 
final  tarrying,  of  her  mother's  soap.  Another 
penned  a  sprightly  dialogue,  supposed  to  have  taken 
place  between  two  sisters  on  the  question,  which 
should  go  a  visiting  with  mother,  and  which  should 
stay  at  home  and  "  take  care  of  the  things." 

The  second  winter  (for  he  taught  two),  Mr.  Ellis 
occasionally  proposed  more  abstract  subjects,  and 
such  as  required  more  thinking  and  reasoning,  but 
still,  such  as  were  likely  to  be  interesting,  and  on 
which  he  knew  his  scholars  to  possess  at  least  a 
few  ideas. 


AS    IT   WAS.  139 

I  need  not  say  how  popular  Mr.  Ellis  was  in  the 
district.     He  was  decidedly  the  best  schoolmaster  I- 
ever  went  to,  and  he  was  the  last. 

I  have  given  him  a  place  here,  not  because  he  is 
to  be  classed  with  his  predecessors  who  taught  the 
district  school  as  it  was,  but  because  he  closed  the 
series  of  my  own  instructors  there,  and  was  the 
last,  moreover,  who  occupied  the  old  school-house. 
He  commenced  a  new  era  in  our  district. 

Before  closing,  I  must  give  one  necessary  hint. 
Let  it  not  be  inferred  from  this  narrative  of  my 
own  particular  experience,  that  the  best  teachers  of 
district  schools  are  to  be  found  in  college  only. 
The  very  next  winter,  the  school  was  blessed  with 
an  instructor  even  superior  to  Mr.  Ellis,  although 
he  was  not  a  collegian.  Mr.  Henry,  however,  had 
well  disciplined  and  informed  his  mind,  and  was, 
moreover,  an  experienced  teacher.  I  was  not  one 
of  his  pupils  ;  but  I  was  in  the  neighborhood,  aoid 
knew  of  his  methods,  his  faithfulness,  and  success. 
His  tall,  spare,  stooping  and  dyspeptic  form  is  now 
distinctly  before  my  mind's  eye.  I  see  him 
wearied  with  incessant  exertion,  taking  his  way 
homeward  at  the  close  of  the  afternoon  school. 
His  pockets  are  filled  with  compositions,  to  be 
looked  over  in  private.  There  are  school-papers  in 
his  hat  too.  A  large  bundle  of  writing-books  is 
under  his  arm.  Through  the  long  evening,  and  in 
the  little  leisure  of  the  morning,  I  see  him  still  hard 
at  work  for  the  good  of  his  pupils.  Perhaps  he  is 
surrounded  by  a  circle  of  the  larger  scholars,  whom 


140  THE    DISTRICT   SCHOOL 

he  has  invited  to  spend  the  evening  with  him,  to 
receive  a  more  thorough  explanation  of  some 
branch  or  item  of  study  than  there  was  time  for  in 
school.  But  stop — Mr.  Henry  did  not  keep  the 
district  school  as  it  was — why,  then,  am  I  describing 
him? 


AS    IT    WAS.  141 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE    EXAMINATION    AT    THE    CLOSING    OP    THE    SCHOOL. 

THE  district  school  as  it  was,  generally  closed, 
in  the  winter,  with  what  was  called  an  "  Examina- 
tion." This  was  usually  attended  by  the  minister 
of  the  town,  the  committee  who  engaged  the 
teacher,  and  such  of  the  parents  as  chose  to  come 
in.  Very  few,  however,  were  sufficiently  interested 
in  the  improvement  of  their  children,  -to  spend 
three  uncomfortable  hours  in  the  hot  and  crowded 
school-room,  listening  to  the  same  dull  round  of 
words,  year  after  year.  If  the  school  had  been 
under  the  care  of  a  good  instructor,  all  was  well  of 
course  ;  if  a  poor  one,  it  was  too  late  to  help  it. 
Or,  perhaps,  they  thought  they  could  not  aiford  the 
time  on  a  fair  afternoon  ;  and,  if  the  weather  was 
stormy,  it  was  rather  more  agreeable  to  stay  at 
home ;  besides,  "  Nobody  else  will  be  there,  and 
why  should  I  go  ?  "  Whether  such  were  the  re- 
flections of  parents  or  not,  scarcely  more  than  half 
of  them,  at  most,  ever  attended  the  examination. 
I  do  not  recollect  that  the  summer  school  was  ex- 
amined at  all.  I  know  not  the  reason  of  this 
omission,  unless  it  was  that  such  had  been  the  cus- 
tom from  time  immemorial. 


142  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

We  shall  suppose  it  to  be  the  last  day  of  the  win- 
ter school.  The  scholars  have  on  their  better 
clothes,  if  their  parents  are  somewhat  particular,  or 
if  the  everyday  dress  "  looks  quite  too  bad."  The 
young  ladies,  especially,  wear  the  next  best  gown, 
and  a  more  cleanly  and  tastefully  worked  necker- 
chief. Their  hair  displays  more  abundant  curls 
a  more  elaborate  adjustment. 

It  is  noon.  The  school-room  is  undergoing  the 
operation  of  being  swept  as  clean  as  a  worn-out 
broom  in  the  hands  of  one  girl,  and  hemlock  twigs 
in  the  hands  of  others,  will  permit.  Whew — what 
a  dust !  Alas  for  Mary's  cape,  so  snow-white  and 
smooth  in  the  morning  !  Hannah's  curls,  which 
lay  so  close  to  each  other,  and  so  pat  and  still  on 
her  temples,  have  got  loose  by  the  exercise,  and 
have  stretched  themselves  into  the  figure  of  half- 
straightened  cork-screws,  nearly  unfit  for  service/ 
The  spirit  of  the  house-wife  dispossesses  the  bland 
and  smiling  spirit  of  the  school-girl.  The  mascu- 
line candidates  for  matrimony  can  now  give  a 
shrewd  guess  who  are  endued  with  an  innate  pro- 
pensity to  scold ;  who  will  be  Xantippes  to  their 
husbands,  should  they  ever  get  their  Cupid's  nests 
made  up  again  so  as  to  catch  them.  "  Be  still, 
Sam,  bringing  in  snow,"  screams  Mary.  "  Get 
away  boys,  off  out  doors,  or  I'll  sweep  you  into  the 
fire,"  snaps  out  Hannah,  as  she  brushes  the  urchins' 
legs  with  her  hemlock.  "  There,  take  that," 
screeches  Margaret,  as  she  gives  a  provoking  lubber 
a  knock  with  the  broom  handle ;  "  there,  take 


AS    IT    WAS.  143 

that,  and  keep  your  wet,  dirty  feet  down  off  the 
seats." 

The  sweeping  and  scolding  are  at  length  done. 
The  girls  are  now  brushing  their  clothes,  by  flap- 
ping handkerchiefs  over  themselves  and  each  other. 
The  dust  is  subsiding ;  one  can  almost  breathe 
again.  The  master  has  come,  all  so  prim,  with  his 
best  coat  and  a  clean  cravat ;  and,  may  be,  a  collar 
is  stiff  and  high  above  it.  His  hair  is  combed  in 
its  genteelest  curvatures.  He  has  returned  earlier 
than  usual,  and  the  boys  are  cut  short  in  their  play, 
— the  glorious  fun  of  the  last  noon-time.  But  they 
must  all  come  in.  But  what  shall  the  visitors  sit 
on  ?  "  Go  up  to  Captain  Clark's,  and  borrow  some 
chairs,"  says  the  master.  Half  a  dozen  boys  are 
off  in  a  moment,  and  next,  more  than  half  a  dozen 
chairs  are  sailing,  swinging,  and  clattering  through 
the  air,  and  set  in  a  row  round  the  spelling-floor. 

The  school  are  at  length  all  seated  at  their  books, 
in  palpitating  expectation.  The  master  makes  a 
speech  on  the  importance  of  speaking  up,  "  loud 
and  distinct,"  and  of  refraining  from  whispering, 
and  all  other  things  well  known  to  be  forbidden. 
The  writing-books  and  ciphering  manuscripts  are 
gathered  and  piled  on  the  desk,  or  the  bench  near 
it.  "  Where  is  your  manuscript,  Margaret  ?"  "  I 
carried  it  home  last  night."  "  Carried  it  home  ! — 
what's  that  for?"  "  'Cause  I  was  ashamed  on't — I 
haven't  got  half  so  far  in  'rethmetic  as  the  rest  of 
the  girls  who  cipher,  I've  had  to  stay  at  home  so 
much." 


144  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

A  heavy  step  is  heard  in  the  entry.  All  is  hush- 
ed within.  They  do  nothing  but  breathe.  The 
door  opens — it  is  nobody  but  one  of  the  largest  boys 
who  went  home  at  noon.  There  are  sleigh-bells 
approaching,- — hark,  do  they  stop?  yes,  up  in  Capt. 
Clark's  shed.  Now  there  is  another  tread,  then  a 
distinct  and  confident  rap.  The  master  opens  the 
door,  and  the  minister  salutes  him,  and,  advancing, 
receives  the  simultaneous  bows  and  courtesies  of 
the  awed  ranks  in  front.  He  is  seated  in  the  most 
conspicuous  and  honorable  place,  perhaps  in  the 
magisterial  desk.  Then  some  of  the  neighbors 
scatter  in,  and  receive  the  same  homage,  though  it 
is  proffered  with  a  more  careless  action  and  aspect. 

Now  commences  the  examination.  First,  the 
younger  classes  read  and  spell.  Observe  that  little 
fellow,  as  he  steps  from  his  seat  to  take  his  place  on 
the  floor.  It  is  his  day  of  public  triumph,  for  he 
is  at  the  head ;  he  has  been  there  the  most  times, 
and  a  ninepence  swings  by  a  flaxen  string  from  his 
neck.  His  skin  wants  letting  out,  it  will  hardly 
hold  the  important  young  gentleman.  His  mother 
told  him  this  morning,  when  he  left  home,  "to 
speak  up  like  a  minist  r,"  and  his  shrill  oratory  is 
almost  at  the  very  pinnacle  of  utterance. 

The  third  class  have  read.  They  are  now  spell- 
ing. They  are  famous  orthographers ;  the  might- 
iest words  of  the  spelling  colums  do  not  intimidate 
them.  Then  come  the  numbers,  the  abbreviations, 
and  the  punctuation.  Some  of  the  little  throats 
are  almost  choked  by  the  hurried  ejection  of  big 
words  and  stringy  sentences. 


AS    IT    WAS. 


The  master  has  gone  through  with  the  several 
accomplishments  of  the  class.  They  are  about  to 
take  their  seats.  "Please  to  let  them  stand  a  few- 
moments  longer,  I  should  like  to  put  out  a  few 
words  to  them,  myself,"  says  the  minister.  Now 
look  out.  They  expect  words  as  long  as  their 
finger,  from  the  widest  columns  of  the  spelling- 
book,  or  perhaps  such  as  are  found  only  in  the  dic- 
tionary. "  Spell  wrist"  says  he  to  the  little  swell- 
er  at  the  head.  "  O,  what  an  easy  word  !"  r-i-s-t, 
wrist.  It  is  not  right.  The  next,  the  next — they 
all  try,  or  rather  do  not  attempt  the  word ;  for  if 
r-i-s-t  does  not  spell  wrist,  they  cannot  conceive 
what  does.  "  Spell  gown,  Anna."  G-o-u-n-d.  "  O 
no,  it  is  gown,  not  gound.  The  next  try."  None 
of  them  can  spell  this.  He  then  puts  out  penknife, 
which  is  spelt  without  the  k,  and  then  andiron, 
which  his  honor  at  the  head  rattles  off  in  this  way, 
"h-a-n-d  hand,  i-u-r-n  hand-iurn." 

The  poor  little  things  are  confused  as  well  as 
discomfited.  They  hardly  know  what  it  means 
The  teacher  is  disconcerted  and  mortified, 
dawns  on  him,  that,  while  he  has  been  following 
the  order  of  the  book,  and  priding  himself  that  so 
young  scholars  can  spell  such  monstrous  great 
words, — words  which  perhaps  they  will  never  use, 
they  cannot  spell  the  names  of  the  most  familiar 
objects.  The  minister  has  taught  him  a  lesson. 

The  Writing-books   are   now   examined.      The 
mighty  pile  is  lifted  from  the  desk,  and  scattered 
along  through  the  hands  of  the  visitors.     Some  are 
13 


as 

,,  | 

",! 

12 


146  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

commended  for  the  neatness  with  which  they  have 
kept  their  manuscripts  ;  some,  for  improvement  in 
writing  ;  of  some,  probably  of  the  majority,  is  said 
nothing  tit  all. 

"  Whew  !  "  softly  breathed  the  minister,  as  he 
opened  a  writing-book,  some  of  whose  pages  were 
a  complete  ink-souse.  He  looked  on  the  outside, 
and  Simon  Patch  was  the  name  that  lay  sprawling 
in  the  dirt  which  adhered  to  the  newspaper  cover. 
Simon  spied  his  book  in  the  reverend  gentleman's 
hands,  and  noticed  his  queer  stace  at  it.  The  min- 
ister looked  up  ;  Simon  shrunk  and  looked  down, 
for  he  felt  that  his  eye  was  about  to  seek  him.  He 
gazed  intensely  in  the  book  before  him  without 
seeing  a  word,  at  the  same  time  earnestly  sucking 
the  pointed  lapel  of  his  Sunday  coat.  But  Simon 
escaped  without  any  audible  rebuke. 

Now  comes  the  arithmetical  examination  ;  that 
is,  the  proficients  in  this  branch  are  required  to  say 
the  rules.  Alas  me !  I  had  no  reputation  at  all  in 
this  science.  I  could  not  repeat  more  than  half  the 
rules  I  had  been  over,  nor  more  than  the  half  of 
that  half  in  the  words  of  the  book,  as  others  could. 
What  shame  and  confusion  of  face  were  mine  on 
the  last  day,  when  we  came  to  be  questioned  in 
Arithmetic  !  But  when  Mr.  Ellis  had  his  examina- 
tion, I  looked  up  a  little,  and  felt  that  I  was  not  so 
utterly  incompetent  as  my  previous  teachers,  to- 
gether with  myself,  had  supposed. 

Then  came  the  display  in  Grammar,  our  knowl- 
edge of  which  is  especially  manifested  in  parsing. 
A  piece  is  selected  which  we  have  parsed  in  the 


AS    IT    WAS.  147 

course  of  the  school,  and  on  which  we  are  again 
drilled  so  as  to  become  as  familiar  with  the  parts  of 
speech,  and  the  governments  and  agreements  of 
which,  as  we  are  with  the  buttons  and  button-holes 
of  our  jackets.  We  appear,  of  course,  amazingly 
expert. 

We  exhibited  our  talent  at  Reading,  likewise,  in 
passages  selected  for  the  occasion,  and  conned  over, 
and  read  over,  until  the  dullest  might  call  all  the 
words  right,  and  the  most  careless  mind  all  the 
"stops  and  marks." 

But  this  examination  was  a  stupid  piece  of  busi- 
ness to  me,  as  is  evident  enough  from  this  stupid 
account  of  it.  The  expectation  arid  preparation 
were  somewhat  exhilarating,  as  I  trust  has  been 
perceived ;  but,  as  soon  as  the  anticipated  scene  had 
commenced,  it  grew  dull,  and  still  more  dull,  just 
like  this  chapter. 

But  let  us  finish  this  examination,  now  we  are 
about  it.  Suppose  it  finished  then.  The  minister 
remarks  to  the  teacher,  "  Your  school  appears  very 
well,  in  general,  sir ;"  then  he  makes  a  speech, 
then  a  prayer,  and  his  business  is  done.  So  is  that 
of  schoolmaster  and  school.  "  You  are  dismissed," 
is  uttered  for  the  last  time  this  season.  It  is  almost 
dark,  and  but  little  time  left  for  a  last  trip-up,  snow- 
ball, or  slide  down  hill.  The  little  boys  arid  girls, 
with  their  books  and  dinner  baskets,  ride  home 
with  their  parents,  if  they  happen  to  be  there. 
The  larger  ones  have  some  last  words  and  laughs, 
together,  and  then  they  leave  the  Old  School-house 
till  December  comes  round  again. 


148  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

THE    OLD     SCHOOL-HOUSE    AGAIN ITS     APPEARANCE     THE 

LAST    WINTER — WHY    SO    LONG    OCCUPIED — A    NEW   ONE 
AT    LAST. 

MY  first  chapter  was  about  the  Old  School-house  : 
so  shall  be  my  last.  The  declining  condition  in 
which  we  first  found  it,  has  waxed  into  exceeding 
infirmity  by  the  changes  of  thirteen  years.  After 
the  summer  school  succeeding  my  thirteenth  winter 
of  district  education,  it  was  sold  and  carried  piece- 
meal away,  ceasing  for  ever  from  the  form  and 
name  of  school-house. 

I  would  have  my  readers  see  how  the  long-used 
and  hard-used  fabric  appeared,  and  how  near  to  dis- 
solution it  came  before  the  district  could  agree  to 
accommodate  their  children  with  a  new  one. 

We  will  now  suppose  it  is  my  last  winter  at  our 
school.  Here  we  are  inside,  let  us  look  around  a 
little. 

The  long  writing-benches  arrest  our  attention  as 
forcibly  as  any  thing  in  sight.  They  were  origi- 
nally of  substantial  plank,  an  inch  and  a  half  thick. 
And  it  is  well  that  they  were  thus  massive.  No 
board  of  ordinary  measure  would  have  stood  the 
hackings  and  hewings,  the  scrapings  and  borings, 


AS    IT    WAS.  149 

which  have  been  inflicted  on  those  sturdy  plank. 
In  the  first  place,  the  edge  next  the  scholar  is  notch- 
ed from  end  to  end,  presenting  an  appearance  some- 
thing like  a  broken-toothed  mill-saw.  Upon  the 
upper  surface,  there  has  been  carved,  or  pictured 
with  ink,  the  likeness  of  all  things  in  the  heavens 
and  on  earth  ever  beheld  by  a  country  school-boy  ; 
and  sundry  guesses  at  things  he  never  did  see. 
Fifty  years  has  this  poor  timber  been  subjected  to 
the  knives  of  idlers,  and  almost  the  fourth  of  fifty 
I  have  hacked  on  it  myself;  and  by  this  last  winter 
their  width  has  become  diminished  nearly  one- 
half.  There  are,  moreover,  innumerable  writings 
on  the  benches  and  ceilings.  On  the  boys'  side 
were  scribbled  the  names  of  the  Hannahs,  the 
Marys,  and  the  Harriets,  toward  whom  young  hearts 
were  beginning  to  soften  in  the  first  gentle  meltings 
of  love.  One  would  suppose  that  a  certain  Harriet 
A.,  was  the  most  distinguished  belle  the  district  has 
ever  produced,  from  the  frequency  of  her  name  on 
bench  and  wall. 

The  cracked  and  patched  and  puttied  windows 
are  now  still  more  diversified  by  here  and  there  a 
square  of  board  instead  of  glass. 

The  master's  desk  is  in  pretty  good  order.  The 
first  one  was  knocked  over  in  a  noon-time  scuffle, 
and  so  completely  shattered  as  to  render  a  new  one 
necessary.  This  has  stood  about  ten  years. 

As  to  the  floor,  had  it  been   some  winters  we 
could  not  have  seen  it  without  considerable  scraping 
away  of   dust   and    various   kinds  of  litter ;  for  a 
13* 


150  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

broom  was  not  always  provided,  and  boys  would 
not  wallow  in  the  snow  after  hemlock,  and  sweep- 
ing could  not  so  well  be  done  with  a  stick.  This 
winter,  however,  Mr.  Ellis  takes  care  that  the  floor 
shall  be  visible  the  greater  part  of  the  time.  It  is 
rough  with  sundry  patches  of  board  nailed  over 
chinks  and  knot-holes  made  by  the  wear  and  tear 
of  years. 

Now  we  will  look  at  the  fire-place.  One  end  of 
the  hearth  has  sunk  an  inch  and  a  half  below  the 
floor.  There  are  crevices  between  some  of  the  tiles, 
into  which  coals  of  fire  sometimes  drop  and  make 
the  boys  spring  for  snow.  The  andirons  have 
-each  lost  a  fore-foot,  and  the  office  of  the  important 
member  is  supplied  by  bricks  which  had  been  dis- 
lodged from  the  chimney-top.  The  fire-shovel  has 
acquired  by  accident  or  age  a  venerable  stoop. 
The  tongs  can  no  longer  be  called  a  pair,  for  the 
lack  of  one  of  the  fellow-limbs.  The  bar  of  iron 
running  from  jamb  to  jamb  in  front, — how  it  is 
bent  and  sinking  in  the  middle,  by  the  pressure  of 
the  sagging  fabric  above !  Indeed  the  whole  chim- 
ney is  quite  ruinous.  The  bricks  are  loose  here 
and  there  in  the  vicinity  of  the  fire-place ;  and  the 
chimney-top  has  lost  so  much  of  its  cement  that 
every  high  wind  dashes  off  a  brick,  rolling  and 
sliding  on  the  roof,  and  then  tumbling  to  the 
ground,  to  the  danger  of  cracking  whatever  heed- 
less skull  may  happen  in  the  way. 

The  window-shutters,  after  having  shattered  the 
glass  by  the  slams  of  many  years,  have  broken 


AS    IT    WAS.  151 

their  own  backs  at  length.  Some  have  fallen  to 
the  ground,  and  are  going  the  way  of  all  things 
perishable.  Others  hang  by  a  single  hinge,  which 
is  likely  to  give  way  at  the  next  high  gale,  and 
consign  the  dangling  shutter  to  the  company  of  its 
fellows  below. 

The  clap-boards  are  here  and  there  loose,  and 
dropping  one  by  one  from  their  fastenings.  One 
of  these  thin  and  narrow  appendages,  sticking  by  a 
nail  at  one  end,  and  loose  and  slivered  at  the  other, 
sends  forth  the  most  ear-rending  music  to  the  skill- 
ful touches  of  the  North-west.  In  allusion  to  the 
soft-toned  instrument  of  JEolus,  it  may  be  termed 
the  Borean  harp.  Indeed,  so  many  are  the  ave- 
nues by  which  the  wind  passes  in  and  out,  and  so 
various  are  the  notes,  according  as  the  rushing  air 
vibrates  a  splinter,  makes  the  window  clatter,  whis- 
tles through  a  knot-hole,  and  rumbles  like  big  base 
down  the  chimney,  that  the  edifice  may  be  imagin- 
ed uproarious  winter's  Panharmonicon,*  played  upon 
in  turn  by  all  the  winds. 

Such  is  the  condition  of  the  Old  School-house, 
supposing  it  to  be  just  before  we  leave  it  forever,  at 
the  close  of  my  thirteenth  and  last  winter  at  our 
district  school.  It  has  been  resorted  to  summer 
after  summer,  and  winter  after  winter,  although 
the  observation  of  parents  and  the  sensations  of 
children  have  long  given  evidence  that  it  ought  to 
be  abandoned. 

*  The  Panharmonicon  is  a  large  instrument  in  which  the  peculiar 
tones  of  several  smaller  instruments  are  combined. 


152*  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL 

At  every  meeting  on  school  affairs  that  has  been 
held  for  several  years,  the  question  of  a  new  school- 
house  has  been  discussed.  All  agree  on  the  urgent 
need  of  one,  and  all  are  willing  to  contribute  their 
portion  of  the  wherewith  ;  but  when  they  attempt 
to  decide  on  its  location,  then  their  harmonious 
action  is  at  an  end.  All  know  that  this  high  bleak 
hill,  the  coldest  spot  within  a  mile,  is  not  the  place ; 
it  would  be  stupid  folly  to  put  it  here.  At  the  foot 
of  the  hill,  on  either  side,  is  as  snug  and  pleasant  a 
spot  as  need  be.  But  the  East-enders  will  not  per- 
mit its  location  on  the  opposite  side,  and  the  West- 
enders  are  as  obstinate  on  their  part.  Each  division 
declares  that  it  will  secede  and  form  a  separate  dis- 
trict should  it  be  carried  further  off,  although  in  this 
case  they  must  put  up  with  much  cheaper  teachers, 
or  much  less  schooling,  or  submit  to  twice  the 
taxes. 

Thus  they  have  tossed  the  ball  of  discussion,  and 
sometimes  hurled  that  of  contention,  back  and  forth, 
year  after  year,  to  just  about  as  much  profit  as  their 
children  have  flung  snow-balls  in  play,  or  chips  and 
cakes  of  ice  when  provoked.  At  length,  Time,  the 
final  decider  of  all  things  material,  wearied  with 
their  jars,  is  likely  to  end  them  by  tumbling  the 
old  ruin  about  their  ears. 

Months  have  passed ;  it  is  near  winter  again. 
There  is  great  rejoicing  among  the  children,  satis- 
faction among  the  parents,  harmony  bet  ween x  the 
two  Ends.  A  new  school-house  has  been  erected 


AS    IT    WAS.  153 

at  last — indeed  it  has.  A  door  of  reconciliation  and 
mutual  adjustment  was  opened  in  the  following 
manner. 

That  powerful-to-do,  but  tardy  personage,  the 
Public,  began  to  be  weary  of  ascending  and  de- 
scending Captain  Clark's  hill.  He  began  to  calcu- 
late the  value  of  time  and  horse-flesh.  One  day  it 
occurred  to  him  that  it  would  be  as  "  cheap,  and 
indeed  much  cheaper,"  to  go  round  this  hill  at  the 
bottom,  than  to  go  round  it  over  the  top ;  for  it  is 
just  as  far  from  side  to  side  of  a  ball  in  one  direction 
as  in  another,  and  this  was  a  case  somewhat  similar. 
He  perceived  that  there  would  be  no  more  lost  in 
the  long  run  by  the  expense  of  carrying  the  road  an 
eighth  of  a  mile  to  the  south,  and  all  on  level 
ground,  than  there  would  be  by  still  wasting  the 
breath  of  horse  and  the  patience  of  man  in  panting 
up  and  tottering  down  this  monstrous  hill.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  had  been  blind  for  years,  not  to 
have  conceived  of  the  improvement  before.  No 
time  was  to  be  lost  now.  He  lifted  up  his  many- 
tongued  voice,  and  put  forth  his  many-handed 
strength ;  and,  in  the  process  of  a  few  months,  a 
road  was  constructed,  curving  round  the  south  side 
of  the  aforesaid  hill,  which,  after  all,  proved  to  be 
but  a  few  rods  longer  from  point  to  point  than  the 
other. 

The  district  were  no  longer  at  variance  about  the 
long-needed  edifice.  The  aforementioned  improve- 
ment had  scarcely  been  decided  on,  before  every 
one  perceived  how  the  matter  might  be  settled.  A 


154  THE    DISTRICT    SCHOOL    AS    IT    WAS. 

school-meeting  was  soon  called,  and  it  was  unani- 
mously agreed  to  erect  a  new  school-house  on  the 
new  road,  almost  exactly  opposite  the  old  spot,  and 
as  equidistant  from  the  two  Ends,  it  was  believed, 
as  the  equator  is  from  the  poles. 

Here  Mr.  Henry  taught  the  District  School  some- 
what as  it  should  be  j  and  it  has  never  since  been 
kept  as  it  was. 


A    SUPPLICATION 


PEOPLE  OF  THE   UNITED   STATES. 


The  following  article  was  first  published  in  a  Boston  newspaper, 
about  fifteen  years  ago.  It  was  afterwards  republished  in  the 
Common  School  Journal.  Its  object  was  not  to  exercise  a  useless 
ingenuity  in  a  play  upon  words,  but  to  attract  a  more  particular, 
and  peradventure,  a  corrective  attention  to  prevalent  inaccuracies 
of  speech.  These  errors,  more  or  less,  still  linger  upon  the  lip. 
Another  republication,  therefore,  may  possibly  be  of  some  little  use. 
At  any  rate,  the  piece  will  contribute  a  distinct  variety  in  making 
up  the  volume. 


A  SUPPLICATION. 


ABOUT  sixty  thousand  Slaves,  owned  by  the 
People  of  the  United  States,  make  the  following 
supplication  to  their  masters,  not  for  emancipation, 
but  for  the  amelioration  of  the  condition  of  certain 
individuals  of  their  race. 

MOST  SOVEREIGN,  RIGHTFUL,  AND  EXCELLENT  MAS- 
TERS,— We  are  the  English  Language, — your  law- 
ful and  perpetual  bond-servants,  whose  names  and 
origin,  characters  and  duties,  are  so  faithfully  ex- 
hibited, in  Noah  Webster's  great  Dictionary.  By 
far  the  largest  part  of  us  have  received  nothing  but 
the  kindest  usage  from  our  owners,  from  time 
immemorial.  Some  thousands  of  us,  indeed,  were 
it  possible,  might  die  of  having  nothing  to  do  but 
sleep,  shut  up  in  the  dormitory  of  the  Dictionary, 
or  in  the  composition  of  some  most  learned,  or  most 
silly  book,  which  the  mass  of  the  people  never 
open.  But  of  this  we  do  not  complain.  Nor  do 
we  account  it  much  of  an  evil,  that  certain  Yankees 
make  us  weary,  with  the  monstrously  long  drawl 
14 


158  A    SUPPLICAWON. 

with  which  they  articulate  us  into  use.  Nor  do 
we  cry  out  against  the  painful  clipping,  cutting-up, 
and  shattering-to-pieces,  given  us  by  the  African 
race ; — for  we  serve  them  as  faithfully  as  we  do 
their  white  fellow-mortals, — holding  that,  as  it 
regards  all  the  relations  of  human  beings  to  us,  all 
men  "are  born  free  and  equal." 

But  now  we  humbly  pray  that  you  will  hear 
what  we  do  complain  of.  We  complain,  that  cer- 
tain of  our  brethren  are  exceedingly  abused,  and 
made  wretched,  by  some  thousands,  and  perhaps 
millions,  of  our  owners.  Their  piteous  groans 
have  shocked  our  ears, — their  unretrieved  sufferings 
have  pained  our  sympathizing  hearts,  for  many 
years.  We  can  endure  no  longer ; — we  must  speak. 
Your  ancient  servants  come,  then,  supplicating  you 
to  take  measures  for  the  relief  of  the  sufferings  of 
the  individuals  of  our  number,  whose  names  and 
particular  subjects  of  complaint  shall  now  be  enu- 
merated, proceeding  in  alphabetical  order. 

Arithmetic, — that  accurate  calculator,  indispensa- 
ble to  this  mighty  and  money-making  nation, 
grievously  complains  that  he  is  obliged  to  work  for 
thousands  without  the  use  of  A-head,  and  deprived 
of  one  of  his  two  «'s.  Here  is  a  picture  of  his 
mutilated  form, — Rethmetic! 

Attacked, — an  important  character,  that  figures  so 
gloriously  in  military  despatches,  and  is  so  necessary 
in  medical  reports, — is  forced,  by  many,  to  the  use 
of  f,  more  than  his  constitution  will  admit.  He 
cannot  perform  his  necessary  business,  you  know, 


A    SUPPLICATION.  159 

without  the  use  of  t,  twice  during  every  job, — but 
to  have  it  forced  into  him  three  times,  causes  a 
change  in  his  constitution  and  appearance,  which 
he  cannot  comfortably  bear.  See  how  Attacked  is 
altered  by  more  t  than  he  wants, — AttackTed. 

There  is  another  poor  fellow,  who  has  a  similar 
affliction, — Across.  He  is  forced  to  the  use  of  t, 
when  his  constitution  cannot  bear  it  at  all.  See 
what  a  spectacle  a  little  t  makes  of  him, — Acrosst. 

That  most  excellent  friend  and  profitable  servant 
of  the  Working-men's  party,  Earn,  complains  that 
those  whom  he  serves  the  best,  deprive  him  of 
what  little  e's  his  laborious  condition  demands. 
See  what  Earn  is  brought  to  by  such  hard  treat- 
ment,— Aim. 

That  necessary  attendant  on  every  messsenger, — 
Errand,  is  in  the  same  state  of  suffering,  from  the 
same  cause.  Errand  is  made  Arrant,  which  is 
"  notorious,  infamous,  and  ill,"  (and  of  course  "  not 
to  be  endured,")  as  you  will  perceive  by  looking  in 
the  Dictionary. 

Andiron — avers  that  he  is  willing  to  bear  any 
burden  that  will  not  break  his  back,  and  stand  any 
fire  that  will  not  melt  him  down,  or  burn  the  house 
up ;  but  he  cannot  stand  it  with  any  comfort  or  pa- 
tience, to  be  breathed  upon  by  that  sneaking  whis- 
perer, h,  in  this  manner, — handiron. 

After — is  willing  to  linger  behind  every  body 
else  in  his  business ;  but  it  is  a  miserable  fate  to  be 
deprived  of  so  large  a  portion  of  his  small  energy 
in  this  way, — Arter. 


160  A    SUPPLICATION. 

"Go  arter  the  cows,  Tom,"  says  Ma'am  Milk- 
moolly.  "  I  move  that  we  adjourn  to  arternoon" 
says  Squire  Goodman,  in  the  Legislature. 

Hear,  also,  how  that  entirely  different  character, 
and  bold  goer-ahead,  growls  as  he  passes  on, — Be- 
fore, "  I  will  go  forward  and  do  rny  duty  as  long 
as  any  part  of  me  is  left  sound  ;  but  my  well-being 
is  dreadfully  affected  by  a  great  many  people  whom 
I  serve, — as  you  cannot  but  perceive," — Afore. 

Bellows, — that  excellent  household  servant, — 
says  he  has  often  had  his  nose  stopped  up  by  ashes, 
and  has  wheezed  with  the  asthma  for  months,  but 
all  these  afflictions  are  nothing  to  usage  like  this, — 
Belluses. 

Bachelor — is  exceedingly  sensitive  about  what  is 
said  of  him  in  the  presence  of  the  ladies.  He  is 
shockingly  mortified  at  being  called  Balchelder. 
To  be  sure,  he  is  a  batch-elder  than  he  ought  to  be, 
regarding  the  comfort  of  maidens  and  the  good  of 
his  country  ;  but  he  is  an  odd  fellow,  and  wants  his 
own  way.  He  is  almost  tempted  to  destroy  him- 
self by  taking  that  deadly  poison  to  his  nature, — a 
wife, — in  order  to  be  relieved  from  his  mortifi- 
cation. 

Boil — is  at  the  hot  duty  of  keeping  the  pot  going, 
and  sometimes  it  is  hard  work  ;  however,  he  com- 
plains not  of  this  ;  but  poor  Boil  has  had  the  jaun- 
dice, and  all  other  liver  complaints,  for  years,  and  is 
blubbering  like  a  baby — all  in  consequence  of  this, 
viz  :  about  nine-tenths  of  the  cooks  in  America, 
and  two-thirds  of  the  eaters,  call  him  Bile. 


A    SUPPLICATION.  161 

Cellar — is  the  lowest  character  in  the  house,  and 
takes  more  wine  and  cider  than  any  other,  and  is 
the  biggest  sauce-box  in  the  world.  Yet,  with  all 
the  propriety  of  the  parlor,  and  a  sobriety,  as  if  not 
a  drop  of  intoxicating  liquor  was  in  him,  and  with 
a  civility,  remarkable  in  one  usually  so  sauce-y,  he 
now  implores  you  to  remember  that  he  is  a  Cellar^ 
and  not  a  Suller. 

Chimney. — Here  is  a  character  who  ten  thousand 
times  would  have  taken  fire  at  an  affront,  were  it 
not  for  the  danger  of  burning  up  the  houses  and 
goods  of  his  abusers, — faithful  servant  and  tender- 
hearted creature  that  he  is !  He  is  content  to  do 
the  hottest,  hardest,  and  dirtiest  work  in  the  world. 
You  may  put  as  much  green  wood  upon  his  back 
as  you  please,  and  make  him  breathe  nothing  but 
smoke,  and  swallow  nothing  but  soot,  and  stand 
over  steam,  till  pots  arid  kettles  boil  no  more  ;  all 
these  are  ease,  pleasantness,  and  peace,  to  abuse  like 
this, —  Chimbly. 

Dictionary — rages  with  all  the  rough  epithets  in 
gentlemanly  or  vulgar  use  ;  and  then  he  melts  into 
the  most  tender  and  heart-moving  words  of  en- 
treaty, and,  in  fact,  tries  all  the  various  powers  of 
the  English  language,  (for,  wonderful  scholar  !  he 
has  it  all  at  his  tongue's  end.)  Still  further, 
mighty  lexicographic  champions,  such  as  Dr.  Web- 
ster, Sheridan,  Walker,  Perry,  Jones,  Fulton  and 
Knight,  and  Jameson,  besides  numerous  other  infe- 
rior defenders, — even  hosts  of  spelling-book  makers, 
have  all  exerted  their  utmost  in  vain,  to  save  him 
14* 


162  A    SUPPLICATION. 

from  the  ignominy  of  being — Dicksonary.  Dic- 
tionary is  one  of  the  proudest  characters  in  our 
mighty  nation,  in  respect  to  his  birth  and  ancestry  ; 
but,  used  as  he  is,  nobody  would  dream  what  his 
father's  name  is.  Be  it  known,  then,  that  Dic- 
tionary is  the  son  of  Diction,  who  is  the  lineal 
descendant  of  that  most  renowned,  and  most  elo- 
quent Roman  orator,  Dico. 

End — is  uttering  the  most  dolorous  groans. 
There  are  certain  individuals  who  are  always  killing 
him  without  putting  him  to  an  end.  See  what  a 
torture  he  is  put  to — eend,  eend. 

Further, — that  friend  of  the  progress  and  im- 
provements of  this  ahead-going  age,  stops  by  the 
way  to  ask  relief.  He  is  ready  to  further  all  the 
innumerable  plans  for  the  benefit  of  man,  except 
when  he  is  brought  back  in  this  way — Furder. 
Then  he  is  so  completely  nullified,  that  he  can  fur- 
ther the  march  of  mind  and  matter  no  more. 

General, — that  renowned  and  glorifying  charac- 
ter, whose  fame  has  resounded  through  the  world, 
is  dishonored  and  made  gloryless  by  many  a  brave 
man  as  well  as  chicken-heart.  He  has  now  in- 
trenched himself  in  this  position,  viz.:  that  he  will 
no  longer  magnify  many  little  militia-folks  into 
mightiness,  unless  they  forbear  to  call  him  Gineral. 
It  is  not  only  a  degradation,  but  it  is  an  offence  to 
his  associations.  Gin — Gm-er-al ;  Wme-er-al,  and 
much  more,  Water-a\,  would  be  more  glory-giving 
in  these  un-treating,  or  rather,  re-treating  times  of 
temperance. 


A    SUPPLICATION.  163 

that  generous  benefactor,  that  magnani- 
mous philanthropist,  is  almost  provoked.  He  de- 
clares that  he  has  a  good  mind,  for  once,  to  demand 
back  his  donations  from  the  temper-trying  mis- 
callers.  I  gave  a  thousand  dollars,  this  very  day, 
towards  the  completion  of  Bunker-Hill  Monument. 
But  don't  say  of  me,  he  gin.  I  never  gin  a  cent 
in  my  life. 

Get, — that  enterprising  and  active  character,  who 
generally,  in  this  country,  helps  Give  and  Gave  to 
the  whole  wherewithal  of  their  beneficence,  and 
gains,  for  old  Keep,  all  his  hoarded  treasures,  and  is 
a  staunch  friend  of  all  the  temperate  and  industrious 
of  the  Working-men's  party, —  Get  stops  to  com- 
plain, that  some  of  those  he  serves  the  best  call  him 
—  Git.  And  he  is  very  reluctant  to  get  along  about 
his  business,  till  some  measures  are  taken  to  prevent 
the  abuse.  Get  is  now  waiting,  ye  workies  of  all 
professions ;  what  say  ?  Will  you  still,  with  a 
merciless  i,  make  him  Git  1 

Gum — is  always  on  the  jaw,  that  he  is  so  often 
called  Goowb,  in  spite  of  his  teeth. 

Gown, — that  very  ladylike  personage,  is  sighing 
away  at  the  deplorable  de-formity  that  de-spoils  her 
beauty  in  the  extreme,  as  is  de-veloped  in  the  fol- 
lowing de-tail,  Gown-d.  Oh  !  ye  lords  of  lan- 
guage !  if  ye  have  any  gallantry,  come  to  the  de- 
liverance of  the  amiable  gown,  that  she  may  shake 
off  this  D-pendant. 

Handkerchief, — your  personal  attendant,  is  also 
distressed  in  the  extreme.  She  is  kept  by  many 


164  A    SUPPLICATION. 

from  her  chief  end  in  the  following  cruel  manner— 
Handker-  CHER. 

January, — that  old  Roman,  is  storming  away  in 
the  most  bitter  wrath  ;  shaking  about  his  snowy 
locks,  and  tearing  away  at  his  icy  beard,  like  a 
madman.  "Blast  'em,"  roars  his  Majesty  of  mid- 
winter, "don't  they  k'novv  any  better  than  to  call 
me  Jinuary  ?  "  They  say,  "  It  is  a  terrible  cold 
Jmuary," — then,  "  It  is  the  Jinuary  thaw."  Oh  ! 
ye  powers  of  the  air !  help  me  to  freeze  and  to 
melt  them  by  turns,  every  day,  for  a  month,  until 
they  shall  feel  the  difference  between  the  vowel  «, 
and  the  vowel  i.  My  name  is  January. 

Kettle, — that  faithful  kitchen-servant,  is  boiling 
with  rage.  He  is  willing  to  be  hung  in  trammels, 
and  be  obliged  to  get  his  living  by  hook  and  by 
crook,  and  be  hauled  over  the  coals  every  day,  and 
take  even  pot-luck  for  his  fare, — and,  indeed,  to  be 
called  black  by  the  pot  j — all  this  he  does  not 
care  a  snap  for  ;  but  to  be  called  Kittle — KITTLE  ! 
"  Were  it  not  for  the  stiffness  of  my  limbs,  I  would 
soon  take  leg-6o«7,"  says  the  fiery  hot  Kettle. 

Little — allows  that  he  is  a  very  inferior  character, 
but  avers  that  he  is  not  least  in  the  great  nation  of 
words.  He  cannot  be  more,  and  he  will  not  be  less. 
Prompted  by  a  considerate  self-respect,  he  informs 
us  that  he  is  degraded  to  an  unwarrantable  diminu- 
tiveness  by  being  called — Leetle.  "  A  leetle  too 
much,"  says  one.  "  A  leetle  too  far,"  says  another. 
"  A  mighty  leetle  thing,"  cries  a  third.  Please  to 
call  respectable  adjectives  by  their  right  names,  is 
the  polite  request  of  your  humble  servant,  Little. 


A    SUPPLICATION.  165 

Lie,  —  that  verb  of  so  quiet  a  disposition  by 
nature,  is  roused  to  complain  that  his  repose  is 
exceedingly  disturbed  in  the  following  manner. 
Almost  the  whole  American  nation,  learned  as  well 
as  unlearned,  have  the  inveterate  habit  of  saying  — 
Lay,  when  they  mean,  and  might  say  —  Lie. 
"  Lay  down,  and  lay  abed,  and  let  it  lay,"  is  truly 
a  national  sin  against  the  laws  of  grammar.  Lie 
modestly  inquires,  whether  even  the  co/Zeg'e-learned 
characters  would  not  be  benefited  by  a  few  days' 
attendance  in  a  good  Common  School.  Lie  is 
rather  inclined  to  indolence,  and  has  a  very  strong 
propensity  to  sleep  ;  but  he  would  not  be  kept  in 
perpetual  dormancy  for  the  lack  of  use.  Please  to 
employ  me  on  all  proper  occasions,  gentlemen  and 
ladies  ;  —  here  I  Lie. 

Liberty  —  is  an  all-glorious  word,  the  pride  and 
boast  of  our  country.  He  has  been  the  orator's 
Bucephalus;  his  very  war-horse,  with  neck  "clothed 
with  thunder."  Oh  !  how  the  noble  creature  is  de- 
graded !  He  is  made  by  many  a  boasting  republican, 
in  this  land  of  the  free,  to  pace  in  this  pitiful  man- 
ner —  Libety  —  LIBETY  !  !  Ye  sons  and  daughters  of 
the  Revolutionists,  if  you  really  aim  at  your  coun- 
try's glory,  and  the  world's  best  good,  give  the  r 
the  heavy  tramp  of  a  battle-host.  Not  Libety  —  but 


Mrs.,  —  that  respectable  abbreviation,  is  exceed- 
ingly grieved  at  the  indignity  she  suffers.  The 
good  ladies,  whom  she  represents,  are  let  down  from 
the  matronly  dignity,  to  which  she  would  hold  them, 


166  A    SUPPLICATION. 

even  to  the  un-married  degradation  of  Miss ; — and 
this  in  the  United  States,  where  matrimony  is  so 
universally  honored  and  sought  after.  She  desires 
it  to  be  universally  published,  that  Miss  belongs 
only  to  ladies  who  have  never  been  blessed  with 
husbands ;  and  that  Mrs.  is  the  legitimate,  and 
never-to-be-omitted  title  of  those  who  have  been 
raised  to  superior  dignity  by  Hy-men — (high-men.) 
N.  B.  Mistress,  for  which  Mrs.  stands  in  writing, 
is  generally  contracted  in  speaking  to,  or  of,  ladies, 
by  leaving  out  the  letters  T  and  R,  in  this  manner, 
— Missies.  Oh !  ye  "  bone  and  muscle  of  the 
country  !  "  how  can  ye  refuse  to  comply  with  so 
gentle  and  lady-like  a  request  ?  We  pray  you 
that  from  the  moment  the  sacred  knot  is  tied, 
"until  death  shall  part,"  you  will  say — Missies. 
(Oh  !  how  honored  your  own  name  to  have  such  a 
title  prefixed!)  "  Missies  So-or-so,  in  what  man- 
ner can  I  best  contribute  to  your  real  and  permanent 
happiness  ?  "  That's  a  good  husband  !  ! 

Oil, — you  all  know,  has  a  disposition,  smooth  to 
a  proverb  ; — but  he  is,  to  say  the  least,  in  great 
danger  of  losing  his  fine,  easy  temper,  by  being 
treated  in  the  altogether  improper  manner  that  you 
here  behold — He  !  ILE  !  Poor  Oil  has  been  for  cen- 
turies crying  out  O!  O  !  O! !  as  loudly  and  roughly 
as  his  melodious  but  sonorous  voice  will  permit ; 
but  they  will  not  hear  ;  they  still  call  him — He. 

Potatoes, — (those  most  indispensable  servants  to 
all  dinner-eating  Americans,  and  the  benevolent 
furnishers  of  "daily  bread,"  and,  indeed,  the  whole 


A    SUPPLICATION.  167 


living  to  Pat-land's  poor,)  —  Potatoes,  are 
with  all  their  eyes,  at  the  agony  to  which  they  are 
put  by  thousands.  They  are  most  unfeelingly 
mangled,  top  and  toe,  in  this  manner,  —  Talers. 
Notwithstanding  their  extremities,  in  the  most 
meaZy-niouthed  manner  they  exclaim,  —  Po  !  Po  ! 
gentlemen  and  ladies!  pray  spare  us  a  head,  and 
you  may  bruise  our  toes  in  welcome.  Still,  you 
must  confess  that  Potaters  is  not  so  sound  and  whole- 
some as  Potatoes. 

Point  —  allows  that  in  some  respects  he  is  of  very 
minute  importance  ;  but  asserts  that  in  others  he  is 
of  the  greatest  consequence,  as  in  an  argument,  for 
instance.  He  is,  in  zeal,  the  sharpest  of  all  those 
who  have  entered  into  the  present  subject  of  Ame- 
lioration. Point  is  determined  to  prick  forward  in 
the  cause,  till  he  shall  be  no  longer  blunted  and 
turned  away  from  his  aim,  and  robbed  of  his  very 
nature,  in  the  measure  you  here  perceive  —  Pint. 
Do  not  disappint  your  injured  servant,  indulgent 
masters. 

Philadelphia  —  takes  off  his  broad-brim,  and,  in 
the  softest  tones  of  brotherly  love,  implores  the 
people  of  the  United  States  to  cease  calling  him  by 
that  harsh,  horrid,  and  un-brotherly  name,  —  Felly- 
delpliy.  It  deprives  him  of  his  significance,  and 
ancient  and  honorable  lineage,  as  every  Greek 
scholar  well  knows.  "  Oh  !  "  cries  the  city  of 
"  Brotherly  Love,"  in  plaintive,  but  kindly  accents, 
—  "  do  understand  the  meaning  —  behold  the  amia- 
bleness  —  hearken  to  the  melody,  and  respect  the 
sincerity  of  Philadelphia" 


168  A    SUPPLICATION. 

Poetry. — What  a  halo  of  glory  around  this  daugh- 
ter of  Genius,  and  descendant  of  Heaven  !  Behold 
how  she  is  rent  asunder  by  many  a  pitiful  proser, 
arid  made  to  come  short  of  due  honor.  Putry — 
Apollo  and  the  Muses  know  nothing  about  Potry  ! 

Quench, — that  renowned  extinguisher,  whom  all 
the  world  can't  hold  a  candle  to,  is  himself  very 
much  put  out,  now  and  then,  from  this  cause, — 
some  people  permit  that  crooked  and  hissing  serpent 
S,  to  get  before  him,  and  coil  round  him,  while  he 
is  in  the  hurry  of  duty,  as  you  here  see — S quench  ; 
and  sometimes  they  give  him  a  horrid  black  I,  thus 
— Squinch. 

Rather — is  universally  known  to  be  very  nice  in 
his  preferences,  and  to  be  almost  continually  occu- 
pied in  expressing  them.  Be  it  as  universally 
known,  then,  that  he  is  disgusted  beyond  all  bearing 
at  being  called — Ruther.  Oh,  how,  from  time  im- 
memorial, has  this  choice  character  suffered  from 
the  interference  of  U,  ye  masters  ! 

Sauce — has  a  good  ma.ny  elements  in  him,  and, 
above  all,  a  proper  share  of  self-respect.  He  thinks 
he  has  too  much  spice  and  spirit  to  be  considered 
such  a  flat  as  this  indicates, — Sass. 

Saucer — complains  that  he  is  served  the  same 
sass.  Between  them  both,  unless  there  is  some- 
thing done,  there  may  be  an  overflow  of  sauciness 
to  their  masters. 

Scarce — is  not  a  very  frequent  complainant  of 
anything, — but  he  is  now  constrained  to  come  for- 
ward and  pour  out  more  plentifully  than  common. 


A   SUPPLICATION.  169 

He  complains  that  certain  Nippies,  both  male  and 
female,  and  hosts  of  honest  imitators,  call  him 
Source,  thinking  it  the  very  tip  of  gentility.  He 
will  detain  you  no  longer,  gentlemen  and  ladies,  for 
he  prefers  -to  be  always — Scarce. 

Such — does  not  complain  of  mistaken  politeness, 
but  of  low  and  vulgar  treatment  like  this — Sick. 

Since — has  been  crying  out  against  the  times, 
from  the  period  of  his  birth  into  English.  It  is 
abominable  that  a  character  of  such  vast  compre- 
hension, should  be  so  belittled.  He  embraces  all 
antiquity,  goes  back  beyond  Adam,  yea,  as  far 
back  into. the  unbeginningness  as  you  could  think 
in  a  million  of  years,  and  unimaginably  further. 
And,  Oh !  his  hoary  head  is  bowed  down  with  sor- 
row at  being  called  by  two-thirds  of  the  American 
people,  Sence.  It  is  hoped  that  all  the  Future  and 
all  the  Past  will  be — Since. 

Spectacles, — those  twin  literati,  who  are  ever 
poring  over  the  pages  of  learning,  raise  eyes  of  sup- 
plication. They  say  that  they  cannot  look  with 
due  respect  upon  certain  elderly  people,  who  pro- 
nounce them  more  unlettered  than  they  really  are, 
as  you  may  perceive  without  looking  with  their  in- 
terested eyes — Spetaclcs.  Venerable  friends,  pray 
c  us,  c  us, — and  give  us  our  due  in  the  matter  of 
letters,  and  we  shall  be  not  only  Spectacles  to  see 
with,  but  to  be  seen — spectacles  of  gratitude." 

Sit — has  been  provoked  to  stand  up  in  his  own 
behalf,  although  he  is  of  sedentary  habits,  and  is 
sometimes  inclined  to  be  idle.  He  declares  he  has 
15 


170  A    SUPPLICATION. 

too  ranch  pride  and  spirit  to  let  that  more  active 
personage — Set — do  all  his  work  for  him.  "  Set 
still,"  says  the  pedagogue  to  his  pupils — and  parents 
to  their  children.  "  Set  down,  sir," — say  a  thou- 
sand gentlemen,  and  some  famously  learned  ones, 
to  their  visiters.  "  The  coat  sets  well,"  affirms  the 
tailor.  Now  all  this  does  not  sit  well  on  your  com- 
plainant, and  he  sets  up  his  Ebenezer,  that  he 
should  like  a  little  more  to  do, — especially  in  the 
employ  of  college-learned  men,  and  also  of  the 
teachers  of  American  youth.  These  distinguished 
characters  ought  to  sit  down,  and  calculate  the  im- 
mense effect  of  their  example  in  matters  of  speech. 

Sat — makes  grievous  complaint  that  he  is  called 
Sot.  He  begs  all  the  world  to  know  that  he  hath 
not  redness  of  eyes,  nor  rumminess  nor  brandiness 
of  breath,  nor  flamingness  of  nose,  that  he  should 
be  degraded  by  the  drunkard's  lowest  and  last 
name — Sot.  The  court  sat, — not  sot, — the  com- 
pany sat  down  to  dinner — not  sot  down  ;  but  "ver- 
bam  SAT,"  if  English  may  be  allowed  to  speak  Latin. 

Shut. — This  is  a  person  of  some  importance  ; 
and,  although  your  slave,  is  a  most  exclusive  char- 
acter, as  is  said  of  the  ultra-fashionables.  He  is, 
indeed,  the  most  decisive  and  unyielding  exclusive 
in  the  world.  He  keeps  the  outs,  out,  and  the  ins, 
in,  both  in  fashionable  and  political  life.  He  is  of 
most  ancient,  as  well  as  of  most  exquisite  pretensions, 
— for  he  kept  the  door  of  Noah's  ark  tight  against 
the  flood.  Now  this  stiff  old  aristocrat  is  made  to 
appear  exceedingly  flat,  silly,  and  undignified,  by 


A    SUPPLICATION.  171 

being  called,  by  sundry  persons, — Shet.  uShet  the 
door,"  says  old  Grandsire  Grumble,  of  a  cold,  windy 
day.  "  Shet  your  books,"  says  the  schoolmaster, 
when  he  is  about  to  hear  the  urchins  spell.  "  Shet 
up,  you  saucy  blockhead,"  cries  he,  to  young  Inso- 
lence. This  is  too  bad !  >It  is  abominable !  a 
schoolmaster,  the  appointed  keeper  of  orthographi- 
cal and  orthoepical  honor, — letting  fall  the  well- 
bred  and  lofty-rninded — Shut — from  his  guardian 
lips,  in  the  shape  of  Shet.  Oh !  the  plebeian  ! 
Faithless  and  unfit  pedagogue  !  !  He  ought  to  be 
banished  to  Shet-land,  where  by  day  he  should  bat- 
tle with  Boreas,  and  teach  A  B  C  to  the  posterity  of 
Triptolemus  Yellowley's*  ass  ;  and  where  by  night 
his  bedchamber  should  be  the  un-shut  North, — his 
bed  the  summit  of  a  snow-drift, — his  sheets  nothing 
but  arctic  mists, — and  his  pillow  the  fragment  of  an 
iceberg  !  !  Away  with  the  traitor  to  Shet-land  !  O 
most  merciful  American  masters  and  mistresses ! 
Shut  has  no  relief  or  safety  from  the  rniserableness 
of  Shet,  but  in  U. 

Told — is  a  round,  sounding  preterite,  that  is  real 
music  in  a  singing-school, — it  will  bear  such  a 
round-rnouthed  thunder  of  voice.  He  feels  the 
dignity  of  his  vocation,  and  asks  not  to  be  kept  out 
of  use  by  such  bad  grammar  as  this — Telled.  "  He 
felled  me  so-and-so."  Pshaw  !  that  renowned  talk- 
er and  servant  of  old  Peter  Parley,  Tell,  declares 
that  no  one  has  ever  derived  existence  from  him  by 

*  A  character  in  one  of  Scott's  novels. 


172  A    SUPPLICATION. 

the  name  of — Telled.^  Pray,  masters  and  mistresses, 
don't  now  forget  what  you  have  been — Told. 

Yes, — that  good-natured  personage,  affirms  that 
were  he  not  of  so  complying  a  disposition,  he 
would  henceforth  be  no  to  every  body  who  should 
call  him — Yis.  To  this  pleasant  hint,  ye  kindly 
ones,  you  cannot  but  say,  Yes — YES  ! ! 

Finally,  hearken  !  There  is  a  voice  from  the 
past.  It  is  the  complaint  of  departing  yesterday. 
He  cries  aloud — Give  ear,  O,  To-day,  and  hear, 
hear,  O,  To-morrrow  !  Never,  never  more,  call  me 
Yisterday  ! 

We  have  thus  presented  you,  Sovereign  Owners, 
with  the  complaints  and  groans  of  a  considerable 
number  of  our  race.  There  are,  doubtless,  many 
others,  who  are  also  in  a  state  of  suffering,  but  who 
have  uncommon  fortitude,  or  too  much  modesty,  to 
come  forward  publicly,  and  make  known  their  trials 
to  our  whole  assembled  community.  Should  the 
abuse  of  any  such  happen  to  be  known  to  you  at 
any  time,  we  pray  that  the  same  consideration  may 
be  given  to  them  as  to  the  rest.  Your  supplicants 
fear  that  they  have  wearied  your  patience.  Never- 
theless, we  must  venture  a  little  farther  in  our  poor 
address.  Please,  then,  to  lend  us  your  indulgence, 
a  few  moments  longer. 

There  is  one  family  in  the  country,  of  whom  it 
is  difficult  for  your  supplicants  to  speak  with  any 
degree  of  calmness,  or  with  that  charity  proper  to 
be  exercised  towards  frail  human  nature.  We  mean 
the  DOWNING  family.  There  is  no  abuse  of  Ian- 


A    SUPPLICATION.  173 

guage  too  gross  for  them.  They  torture  words  into 
such  unnatural  shapes  that  the  stretchings  and 
disjointings  of  a  Catholic  Inquisition  would  be  a 
pleasure  in  comparison.  They  make  short,  long, 
and  long,  short,  without  mercy.  Oh  !  what  agony 
in  their  spelling  !  An  ignorant  child  might  mangle 
us  in  orthography,  with  innocence,  as  he  might 
stick  pins  through  flies,  or  pull  their  wings  off,  not 
dreaming  of  the  torture  he  inflicts ;  but  when  a 
man, — a  statesman, — a  military  man,  and  a  Great 
man,  like  the  indomitable,  the  super-heroic  and 
immortally  renowned  JACK  DOWNING,  is  thus  bar- 
barous and  butcherly  on  the  servants  of  his  lips  and 
pen,  it  is 

"  "Above  all  Greek,  above  all  Roman  fame" 

in  the  treatment  of  slaves.  But  we  will  not  dwell 
on  the  misdoings  of  the  Major,  in  a  vain  spirit  of 
vindictiveness.  He  is  dead  and  gone,  according  to 
the  record  of  the  Portland  Courier,  "away  down  in 
Maine."  Bat,  alas !  his  works  remain,  dissemina- 
ting their  Vandal  influence.  Therefore,  we  ear- 
nestly entreat  the  free,  and  ought-to-be-enlightened 
people  of  the  United  States,  to  arise,  all  as  one,  in 
this  great  cause  of  Letters,  and  hunt  up  and  gather 
together  all  the  writings  of  said  JACK  DOWNING,  and 
make  ashes  of  them,  to  be  trodden  under  foot,  so  as 
never  more  to  come  near  any  body's  head  in  the 
shape  and  quality  of  LETTERS.  We  entreat,  also, 
that  the  similar  writings  of  his  relations, — "  Sargent 
Joel,"  and  the  rest,— and  all  other  /Milerati  of  like 
15* 


174  A    SUPPLICATION. 

stamp,  may  be  put,  ashes  to  ashes,  with  the  Major's. 
Still  further,  in  behalf  of  sound  learning  and  our- 
selves, we  beg  that  all  remaining  members  of  the 
Downing  family,  may  be  sought  out  by  the  pro- 
tecting hand  of  Public  Justice,  and  hurled  into  that 
original  nothingness,  from  which,  without  father  or 
mother,  they  rose.  Or,  if  the  following  process 
shall  be  deemed  of  greater  utility,  we  desire  that  it 
may  be  adopted  instead,  viz  : — Let  all  parents  and 
school-teachers  take  the  afore-mentioned  /^-litera- 
ture, and  point  out  to  their  children  and  pupils  all 
the  abuses  of  good  grammar  and  correct  spelling 
therein  to  be  found.  Let  these  abuses  be  made  a 
sign  and  a  warning  to  them,  never  to  be  guilty  of 
the  same.  Let  this  be  done,  and  we  will  cease 
from  our  maledictions  on  the  Downingville  heroes 
and  heroines.  Yea,  we  prefer  that  the  last  sugges- 
tion should  be  carried  into  effect.  Let  the  Major, 
the  Sargent,  Ezekiel  Bigelow,  and  all  the  rest  of 
them,  live  in  their  works.  Who  knows  but  that 
they  are  even  more  beneficent  and  wise  than  the 
world  and  ourselves  have  ever  dreamed.  On  reflec- 
tion, we  are  more  and  more  inclined  to  the  opinion, 
that  we  have  been  designedly  abused  in  said 
writings,  on  purpose  to  excite  public  attention  and 
commiseration  towards  similar  abuses  experienced 
:by  us,  every  day,  from  thousands  and  indeed 
-millions  of  others  in  this  country.  If  this  after- 
thought be  true,  we  most  cordially  take  back  what- 
ever of  severity  we  may  have  indulged  towards 
these  deep-planning  benefactors.  We  cannot  but 


A   SUPPLICATION.  175 

entertain  agreeable  anticipations.  From  the  un- 
found  boundary  of  remotest  Maine ;  yea,  from  the 
furthermost  point  of  "Away  down  East,"  to  the 
Southwesternmost  corner  of  that  JiZwrraA-Land, 
called  Texas, — we  extend  our  visions  of  ameliora- 
tion. We  behold  pedagogues  and  parents  making 
use  of  the  Downing  writings  as  a  text-book,  where- 
by to  illustrate  the  bad  usage  of  their  faithful 
servants,  ourselves.  Or  at  least  we  behold  them 
watching  the  bad  habits  of  their  own  lips,  and  most 
sedulously  correcting  the  bad  habits  of  the  young  as 
often  as  they  may  appear.  Now,  Sovereign  Masters 
and  Mistresses,  and  Rightful  Owners,  shall  these 
visions  of  hope  be  realized  ?  Shall  the  condition  of 
our  suffering  brethren  be  ameliorated  ?  Shall  the 
era  of  good  grammar,  correct  spelling,  and  proper 
pronunciation,  be  hastened  forward  by  some  be- 
nevolent exertions?  Shall  the  present  abuses  be 
transmitted  to  the  future  or  not  ?  Shall  the  Golden 
Age  of  Speech  speedily  come,  and  last  evermore? 

That  such  improvement  in  their  condition  may 
be  vouchsafed,  is  the  humble  prayer  of  your  sup- 
plicants ; — all  whose  names,  being  too  numerous  to 
be  here  subscribed,  may  be  found  recorded  in 
Webster's  great  Dictionary. 


A    TRAVELER'S    STORY, 


PERUSAL  OF  PARENTS. 


A  TRAVELER'S  STORY. 


A  GREAT  mistake  is  often  committed  by  parents 
in  withholding  their  patronage  from  schools  at 
home,  close  by  their  own  doors,  and  giving  it  to 
those  further  off,  whose  merits,  or  rather  demerits, 
they  are  not  sufficiently  acquainted  with.  "  'Tis 
distance  lends  enchantment  to  the  view,"  and 
oftentimes,  distance  only.  How  often  are  the 
young  sent  to  some  boarding  school,  and  thereby 
exposed  to  serious  physical  and  moral  dangers, 
simply  because  the  seminary,  as  it  is  called,  is 
fashionable,  or  is  seen  through  the  magnifying  me- 
dium of  a  swelling  newspaper  advertisement,  or 
the  extravagant  puffery  of  the  personal  but  ignorant 
friends  of  the  principal  of  the  establishment.  There 
are,  no  doubt,  many  excellent  institutions  of  the 
kind  referred  to,  and  youth,  at  a  proper  age,  may  be 
sent  to  them  with  advantage ;  but  I  think  that 
younger  children  should  be  kept  at  school  near 
home,  if  the  school  is  at  all  worthy  of  patronage. 
If  such  a  one  is  not  to  be  found,  then  let  parents 
spare  no  time  or  money  in  endeavoring  to  make  the 


180  A  TRAVELER'S  STORY. 

private  or  public  school  of  their  neighborhood 
worthy  of  receiving  their  precious  offspring. 

But  my  present  purpose  is  not  to  write  a  disser- 
tation, but  to  tell  a  story  illustrative  of  parental 
error. 

I  was  about  leaving  one  of  the  smallest  cities  of 
our  country  in  the  three  o'clock  stage,  on  a  clear 
summer  morning.  The  agent's  man,  accompanying 
the  driver  to  pick  up  the  passengers,  carelessly  in- 
formed me,  as  I  was  about  to  take  my  seat,  that 
there  was  a  young  lady  in  the  stage,  going  about 

fifty  miles,  whom  her  father,  Mr. ,  wished  me 

to  have  a  little  care  of  on  the  way.  I  was  some- 
what surprised,  for  I  had  never  heard  of  either,  be- 
fore. It  seems  that  the  father  had  been  to  the 
stage  office  and  learned  that  a  gentleman,  and  one 
only,  was  traveling  in  the  direction  his  daughter 
was  to  go,  and  had  such  confidence  in  his  integrity, 
as  to  send  his  request  through  a  second,  and  even 
third,  person.  It  occurred  to  me,  that  most  careful 
parents  would  have  done  the  errand  directly  to  a 
stranger,  even  at  the  expense  of  losing  some  hours' 
sleep. 

On  entering  the  stage,  my  only  fellow-travelers 
appeared  to  be  three  females,  hidden  from  distinct 
view  in  the  more  than  twilight  darkness  of  the 
back  seat,  one  of  them  seeming  of  the  stature  of  a 
little  girl.  One  of  the  two  others  I  supposed  to  be 
my  confiding  and  confided  protege.  But  not  hav- 
ing a  direct  introduction,  I  waited  for  the  plainer 
daylight,  to  make  us  mutually  acquainted.  It  was 


A  TRAVELER'S  STORY.  181 

truly  a  pleasant  incident  to  a  solitary  man,  hun- 
dreds of  miles  from  his  home,  to  be  intrusted  with 
such  a  charge.  The  fine  spirits  inspired  by  the 
fresh  beautiful  morning,  were  rendered  still  more 
buoyant  by  anticipations  of  agreeable  companion- 
ship. A  rare  chance,  thought  I,  to  set  my  face 
homeward  with  a  summer's  day  peeping  and  blush- 
ing upon  me,  and  a  young  lady,  withal,  to  shed 
brighter  and  rosier  beams  from  life's  morning  coun- 
tenance. What  delightful  chit-chat,  too,  for  these 
fifty  long  miles  !  I  shall  pretty  soon  have  more 
touching  and  lasting  music  than  the  passing  twitter 
of  these  early  birds.  Intelligent,  sociable  woman 
is  a  warbler  who  will  not  take  to  silence  with  those 
of  the  bush,  but  will  warble  the  day  through  ;  at 
least,  I  have  seen  and  heard  some  such,  and  I  trust 
here  is  the  like,  nestling  in  the  corner  back  of  me. 
Conjecture  was  on  tiptoe  ;  indeed,  I  began  to  grow 
quite  romantic  about  the  personage  whom  the 
friendly  light  would  soon  present  to  my  acquaint- 
ance. Well,  we  had  passed  the  city  borders,  and 
the  opening  day  in  the  open  country  had  sufficient- 
ly dispelled  the  darkness  of  the  curtained  vehicle  ; 
so  I  turned  round,  to  see  what  sort  of  light  might 
be  reflected  from  the  countenances  on  the  hitherto 
mysterious  back  seat.  And  now,  behold,  ensconced 
in  the  two  corners  were  the  wrinkled  faces,  and 
crisped  forms,  and  chocolate-colored  dresses,  of  two 
quite  elderly  women.  The  fathers  of  these  daugh- 
ters had  long  been  in  their  last  sleep,  so  it  could  not 
be  one  of  them  whose  parent  had  intrusted  her  to 
16 


182  A  TRAVELER'S  STORY. 

my  honest  care.  But  between  these  monuments  of 
the  past  sat  a  little  miss  of  ten  or  twelve  years  of 
age.  So,  here  must  be  my  charge,  whom  my  fancy 
had  been  romancing  about,  and  comparing  to  all 
that  was  fresh  and  beautiful  in  the  young  day. 
Her  cheek  truly  emulated  the  dawn,  and  her  blue 
eye  out-beamed  the  morning  star ;  and  a  few  years' 
advance  among  the  teens,  might  make  her  all  that 
one  could  wish  as  delightful  companionship  on  the 
road ;  but  here  was  a  mere  child,  and  my  duty  was 
probably  to  see  that  her  inexperience  did  not  betray 
her  into  danger,  and  to  keep  her  from  crying,  to  her 
journey's  end.  "  Well,  miss,"  said  I,  after  a  civil 
nod  to  the  elderlies,  "  so  you  are  the  young  lady 
whom  I  have  been  requested  to  have  the  care  of  on 
the  way  ?"  "  Yes,  sir,"  replied  she,  "  I  am  going 

as  far  as ,  to  school.     I  have  been  spending  the 

vacation  at  home.  Father  found  that  a  gentleman 
was  going  in  the  stage,  and  he  thought  it  might  be 
well  to  send  word  to  him  about  me.  Had  there 
been  nobody  going  this  morning,  I  should  have 
gone  fifty  miles  all  alone."  "  Pretty  young,  seems  to 
me,  to  go  so  far  alone,  or  with  strangers,"  remarked 
the  milder  faced  of  the  other  two  ;  "  I  should  not 
like  to  have  a  grandchild  of  mine  sent  off  so." 
"  Nor  I,"  briefly  came  from  the  thinner  and  closer 
lips  of  the  severer-featured  other.  Not  much  more 
was  said  till  we  arrived  at  our  first  stopping  place  ; 
for  the  school-miss  seemed  rather  sad,  and  no  won- 
der, thought  I.  Here  she  ate  her  breakfast,  as  if 
her  appetite  had  been  left  at  the  table  of  her  home, 


A  TRAVELER'S  STORY.  183 

where  the  eater  ought  still  to  have  continued,  as  I 
soon  had  reason  to  believe. 

After  a  few  miles  further,  my  elderly  compan- 
ions left  the  stage  to  the  sole  occupancy  of  Miss 
and  myself.  We  had  scarcely  got  our  first  jolt  in 
the  roomy  vehicle,  before  I  perceived  the  child 
sobbing,  and  in  tears.  "  What  is  the  matter,  my 

young  friend  ?"  "  O,  I  don't  want  to  go  to ; 

I  hate  that  place.  I  wish  mother  would  let  me 
stay  at  home  ;  I  want  to  be  with  her."  And  then 
she  sobbed  the  louder,  and  the  little  blue  fountains 
poured  out  on  the  bloom  beneath,  such  waters  of 
bitterness,  as,  long-continued,  would  have  blighted 
that  beauty  of  health  and  hue. 

But  childhood's  tear-springs  are  happily  not  deep, 
and  are  soon  exhausted.  My  sympathies  could  not 
but  be  most  keenly  awakened.  I  was  led  at  once 
to  make  inquiries  about  the  school  to  which  she 
was  forced  to  return.  In  the  first  place,  I  learned 
that  the  little  sufferer  loved  her  mother  exceeding- 
ly, and  her  highest  happiness  was  to  be  in  her  so- 
ciety. Next,  I  was  told  that  she  was  laughed  at 
and  treated  unfeelingly,  by  her  instructors,  when 
she  was  homesick,  and  cried.  I  inquired  minutely 
into  the  customs  of  the  school,  and  I  found  that  they 
were  unfavorable  to  health.  The  time  after  rising, 
before  breakfast,  was  occupied  in  their  private 
rooms, — the  bed-rooms  ;  and  the  breath  of  health 
abounds  not,  immediately,  where  the  exhalations  of 
sleep  have  been  going  on  for  seven  or  eight  hours. 
Soon  after  the  first  meal,  the  pupils  are  imprisoned 


184  A  TRAVELER'S  STORY. 

in  the  school-room  till  mid-day,  with  the  exception 
of  a  very  brief  recess.  They  must  sit  just  so 
straight,  and  in  that  constrained  position  by 
which  flexile-framed  and  many-jointed  nature  is 
so  sorely  pained.  A  number  of  the  seats  were 
without  backs,  so  that  the  backbone  was  the  only 
backing  some  of  the  poor  creatures  had  for  their 
aching  bodies.  Then  the  half  hour  before  dining, 
in  the  summer's  hot  noon,  was^iot  very  appropriate 
for  bodily  action,  and  at  no  season  was  particularly 
devoted  to  needed  exercise.  The  afternoon  was 
passed  also  in  the  same  dull,  uninteresting,  and 
constrained  routine.  "  Oh,"  exclaimed  the  little 
tender-hearted  narrator,  in  describing  her  seat  and 
posture  ;  "oh,  I  have  such  a  feeling  here,"  putting 
her  hand  to  her  bosom,  "  that  I  can  hardly  breathe, 
sometimes.  Then  I  have  no  appetite  to  eat,  and  I 
am  sick  after  my  dinners.  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  go 
back.  Do  let  me  go  on  with  you,  sir.  No,  I  beg 
you  would  hire  a  horse  and  chaise,  and  carry  me 
back  to  my  home.  Or  get  me  a  buggy,  and  I  will 
go  alone,  if  I  don't  get  home  till  midnight.  I  had 
rather  do  this,  than  go  back  to  school.  I  shan't  be 
an  atom  afraid."  And  then  she  cried  again,  and 
would  not  be  comforted.  My  heart  was  moved. 
I  then  resolved  that  I  would  tell  the  story  to  the 
public,  for  the  good  of  poor  little  sufferers  like 
this. 

But  why  was  this  lovely  child  sent  away,  fifty 
miles,  to  a  heartless  boarding  school  ?  Because  it 
was  the  fashion  ;  and  the  schools  near  home,  though 


A  TRAVELER'S  STORY.  185 

some  of  them  were  very  good,  as  I  had  before  learned, 
did  not  exactly  suit  the  parents,  who  seemed  to  be 
entirely  ignorant  of  the  manner  in  which  schools 
should  be  conducted.  From  the  little  girl's  artless 
account,  they  had  found  fault  with  the  very  salu- 
tary methods  of  an  excellent  school.  And  what 
were  the  studies  that  were  pursued  at  such  a  dis- 
tance, and  at  the  cost  of  nearly  two  hundred  dollars 
a  year  ?  Nothing,  I  found,  but  the  ordinary  pur- 
suits of  reading,  writing,  arithmetic,  and  grammar, 
with  the  exception  of  a  book  on  commerce.  From 
this  she  probably  learned  something  about  the  va- 
rious productions  of  different  countries.  She  learned 
about  things  appertaining  in  part  at  least  to  the 
other  side  of  the  globe,  and  which  would  be  better 
understood  at  a  maturer  age  ;  while  the  phenomena 
of  nature,  and  the  common  processes  of  art,  close 
by,  were  a  perfect  mystery.  I  set  to  questioning 
the  little  student  of  commerce,  and  she  knew  noth- 
ing about  the  common  grains,  fields  of  which  we 
were  passing,  and  from  which  was  her  daily  food. 
How  they  differed  or  grew,  how  they  were  sown  or 
harvested,  she  knew  not.  Of  the  clouds  over  her 
head,  the  rains  dropping  at  her  feet,  and  the  heat 
and  the  cold  affecting  her  body  continually,  she 
could  give  no  good  reasons.  She  thought  the 
clouds  were  great  bags  up  in  the  sky,  holding  water 
which  once  in  a  while  got  loose,  through  some  sort 
of  holes,  and  tumbled  down  in  the  shape  of  rain. 
She  knew  not  how  butter,  or  cheese,  or  a  thousand 
things,  were  formed,  which  were  made  at  doors  all 
16* 


186  A  TRAVELER'S  STORY. 

around.  I  asked  if  she  had  been  in  a  gristmill. 
She  had  only  seen  the  outside  of  one  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  her  school.  Her  mind  was  sent  across  the 
ocean  faintly  to  conceive  of  sugar-making,  for  in- 
stance, while  she  was  not  led  to  observe  with  her 
own  bodily  senses  as  interesting  processes  of  manu- 
facture taking  place  within  two  minutes'  walk. 
At  the  same  time,  she  was  suffering  from  the  want 
of  that  exercise  which  excursions  into  fields,  and 
shops,  and  mills,  would  have  afforded,  together  with 
valuable  and  pleasant  instruction.  The  only  time 
at-all  appropriated  to  all-important  exercise,  was  a 
brief  period  about  sundown  ;  and  this  was  occupied, 
at  best,  by  a  short  and  sauntering  walk,  and  it 
might  be  whiled  away  within  doors,  if  indolence 
so  preferred. 

My  story  is  done,  excepting  to  add,  that  I  saw 
my  sweet  little  companion  left  at  the  door  of  the 
seminary  where,  for  a  moment  at  least,  she  forgot 
the  hated  school  in  the  welcoming  kiss  of  two  or 
three  fellow  pupils, — perhaps  I  ought  to  say,  fellow 
sufferers.  Just  at  parting  from  me,  she  strikingly 
showed  how  easily  her  good  affections  might  be 
drawn  out,  instead  of  being  repressed,  and  her  nat- 
urally amiable  temper  kept  sweet,  instead  of  being 
soured.  Among  the  last  words  of  her  truly  musi- 
cal voice,  were,  "  O,  sir,  I  wish  you  would  tell  me 
your  name,  so  that  I  may  write  to  mother  how  very 
kind  you  have  been  to  me."  The  name  was  given 
her,  together  with  a  most  friendly  and  pitying 
good-by.  I  traveled  on  to  my  destination,  lament- 


A  TRAVELER'S  STORY.  187 

ing  that  the  subject  of  education  should  be  so 
little  understood  by  those  who  ought  to  know  the 
most  about  it — parents.  I  was  more  convinced 
than  ever  that  the  most  proper  place  for  the  first 
stages  of  education  at  least,  is  within  and  around 
an  affectionate  and  a  judiciously  careful  home.  For 
the  sake  of  mere  fashion,  or  acquisitions  which  the 
head  is  not  yet  old  enough  to  understand  or  yet  to 
need,  why  should  the  tender  heart  of  childhood  be 
wrested  out  of  its  warm  bosom  and  cast  into  the 
distant  cold  ? 


THE    MOUNTAIN    TOWN 


MAGNANIMOUS    BOY. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  TOWN,  &c, 


THE  love  of  gain  is  well  known  to  be  a  predomi- 
nant characteristic  of  the  people  of  New  England. 
It  possesses  the  souls  of  many  like  as  an  indwelling 
spirit,  impelling  the  will  and  giving  direction  to  all 
the  energies.  It  enters  the  man  in  his  very  child- 
hood, and  oft-times  puts  down  and  keeps  down  that 
benevolence,  which  all,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree, 
are  born  with,  and  are  intended  to  manifest  in  num- 
berless ways,  blessing  and  being  blessed.  At  least, 
if  kindly  and  spontaneous  sympathy  is  not  hin- 
dered, how  often  is  its  purity  corrupted,  its  beauty 
tarnished,  by  accompanying  or  after-coming  thoughts 
of  detestable  selfishness.  Mammon  will  stand  close 
to  the  heart-fountain,  to  catch  the  impulsive,  stain- 
less gush  of  charity,  and  make  a  bargain  out  of  it. 
For  instance,  I  have  known  the  single  occupant  of 
a  carriage  invite  the  wearied  or  hurried  traveler  to 
take  a  seat  by  his  side,  and  then  at  parting  receive 
with  chuckling  satisfaction  the  bit  of  silver  which 
the  benefited  felt  prompted  in  gratitude  to  offer. 


192  THE    MOUNTAIN    TOWN. 

I  have  known  men  leap  with  pure  sympathy's  un- 
calculating  quickness  to  the  aid  of  one  caught  in 
sudden  trouble,  and  after  carefully  bestowing  relief, 
go  away  seemingly  more  glad  with  a  trifle  of  heart- 
cursing  lucre  than  with  the  good  they  had  done. 
How  pitiable  is  this  insensibility  to  the  worth  of 
that  benevolence,  which  not  only  quickens  sponta- 
neously into  action,  but  abides  without  a  single 
after-thought  of  selfishness.  Its  own  consciousness 
is  suflicient  reward..  But  besides  this,  with  what 
consequent  and  unalloyed  gratitude  from  the  recipi- 
ent of  favor  is  it  blessed.  Still  farther,  the  prompt- 
ing feeling, — the  performed  good, — the  touched 
affections,  the  sweetened  tones,  the  softened  looks 
of  a  fellow-being  are  all  laid  up,  rustless,  uncanker- 
ing  treasures,  in  the  heaven  of  remembrance.  What 
a  damnation  is  worldliness  to  itself!  There  is  not 
much  hope  of  breaking  this  insensibility  in  gain- 
hardened  men.  Gain-hardened  they  will  live  and 
act,  and  thus  they  are  likely  to  die.  But  oh  !  that 
tender  childhood  and  docile  youth  might  be  saved 
from  this  money-taint,  this  metal-crust  of  the  heart. 
But  alas,  how  numerous  the  instances  of  early 
hardening  !  A  boy  but  picks  up  and  runs  to  you 
with  your  pocket-book,  yea,  nothing  but  your  hand- 
kerchief, almost  the  instant  it  was  dropped,  and 
then  trips  away  rejoicing  in  the  curse  of  your  cop- 
pers, and  not  in  the  sweet  little  blessing  of  the 
kindly  deed.  And  parents — I  have  seen  them  man- 
ifest a  foolish  pleasure,  indeed  it  should  be  called 
a  vile,  baneful  sympathy,  when  their  child  has 


THE    MOUNTAIN    TOWN.  193 

bounded  into  their  presence  joyfully  exhibiting  the 
lucky  prize  occasioned  by  another's  misfortune. 
While  he  slips  the  douceur  into  his  incipient  purse, 
or  drops  it  upon  the  little  growing  pile  in  his  chest- 
till,  he  wishes  perhaps  that  such  chances  might 
come  often,  and  these  guardians  and  guides  of  his 
immortal  nature  seemingly  wish  the  same. 

No  doubt  there  are  many,  many  instances, 
wherein  the  young  do  not  prove  traitors  to  their 
pure,  spontaneous  sympathies,  by  taking  pay  for 
their  exercise.  One  such  instance  I  once  expe- 
rienced myself,  and  for  encouragement  to  the  pure, 
and  example  to  the  perverted,  I  will  relate  it. 
Sometimes  a  good  deed  is  so  associated  in  our 
minds  with  peculiar  circumstances,  that  we  our- 
selves, if  not  others,  deem  it  to  have  uncommon 
significance  and  value.  It  is  so  in  my  mind  with 
the  one  in  view.  But  first  I  would  say  something 
of  the  town  wherein  the  scene  to  be  described  took 
place ;  for  that  town  is  dear  to  my  heart  from  the 
many  delightful  hours,  yea,  days,  I  have  spent  there 
with  a  clerical  friend,  whose  good-doing  and  excel- 
lent example  I  shall  directly  have  occasion  to  men- 
tion. He  will  forgive  me,  I  trust,  for  pointing  to 
his  light,  which,  though  shining  clearly  and  very 
brightly  before  men,  men  may  not  see,  although  it 
is  before  them. 

The  town  of lies  upon  some  of  the  bold- 
est, roughest  hills  of  New  England,  surrounded  bjr 
scenery  of  the  most  imposing  character.  A  few 
miles  to  the  eastward  arise  mountainous  piles,  and1 
17 


194  THE    MOUNTAIN    TOWN. 

ridges  of  picturesque  grandeur.  Southward,  towers 
the  solitary,  dark,  blue  summit  of  one  of  our  grand- 
est mountains.  The  steepled  and  columned  church 
is  loftily,  and  so  peculiarly  situated,  that  its  roof 
sends  the  rain-drops  on  one  side  to  the  Merrimack, 
and  on  the  other  to  the  sea  by  the  opposite  channel 
of  the  Connecticut.  From  this  airy  elevation  the 
eye,  looking  westward,  first  falls  upon  one  of  those 
numerous  ponds  which  gem  with  crystal,  and  en- 
chantingly  mirror,  these  wilder  regions.  On  one 
side  of  this  water  ascends  a  woody  steep,  made 
bold  by  rocky  cliffs.  On  another  a  hill  rounds  up, 
and  softens  beneath  the  touch  of  agriculture.  On 
a  third  side,  to  the  spectator  in  a  particular  position, 
the  adjacent  monarch  of  the  hills  seems  to  shoot  his 
pinnacled  supremacy  into  a  skyey  depth,  which  the 
watery  reflection  arches  with  the  infinite  magnifi- 
cence of  reality.  Far  away  on  the  western  horizon 
is  discerned  the  line  of  the  Vermont  mountains,  ro- 
mantically diversified  with  extended  ridge,  rounded 
summit,  and  heaven-piercing  peak.  Such  is  the 
glorious  scenery  by  which  the  Creator  informs  the 
minds  of  many,  and  inspires  the  hearts  of  some,  in 
these  retirements.  One  would  think,  that  love  and 
awe  toward  alluring  and  soul-commanding  nature 
would  here  modify  aud  hallow  the  all-possessing 
spirit  of  gain.  Whether  it  be  so  or  not  is  doubtful, 
for  the  hard,  stern  soil  begets  a  habit  of  industry 
and  persevering  acquisitiveness,  which  the  beautiful 
and  grand  would  hardly  counteract  in  most  minds. 
The  narrowed  soul  will  not  look  out  of  its  insignifi- 


THE    MOUNTAIN    TOWN.  195 

cancy  and  turn  from  its  petty  purposes,  although  God's 
mightiest  messengers  in  creation  present  themselves 
majestic  at  its  casements  or  thunder  at  its  portals. 

But  the  particular  town  just  described  possesses 
other  advantages  of  an  intellectual  arid  moral  char- 
acter, which  cannot  but  have  some  good  effect,  es- 
pecially on  the  young.  The  schools,  I  believe,  are 
in  an  unusual  state  of  forwardness,  owing  in  some 
degree  to  a  liberal  fund  left  for  their  aid  by  a  former 
wealthy  clergyman  of  the  place,  now  deceased. 
Libraries  too  were  the  subject  of  his  benefaction,  if 
recollection  rightly  serves.  But  the  most  distin- 
guishing means  of  improvement,  are  the  efforts  and 
personal  character  of  one  of  the  present  clergymen. 
He  has  been  settled  somewhat  over  twenty  years. 
Very  early  in  his  ministry  he  commenced  a  juvenile 
library,  which  hgs  steadily  increased,  and  is  the 
largest  collection  of  the  sort  that  I  have  ever  seen. 
Through  this,  a  universal  taste  for  reading  has  been 
generated  in  the  young  mind.  All  under  the  age 
of  thirty,  down  to  childhood,  cannot  but  have  re- 
ceived improvement  from  this,  and  manifest  it  in 
their  conversation  and  daily  walks.  Libraries  of  a 
higher  character  have  also  been  established  under 
the  direction  of  the  same  individual.  One  of  these 
is  worthy  of  particular  mention,  as  it  is  uncommon, 
viz.,  a  scientific  library,  including  all  the  volumes  of 
one  of  the  great  cyclopedias.  The  farmer  at  his 
fireside,  perusing  works  like  these,  is  surely  in  a  fair 
way  to  get  the  better  of  that  all-prevailing  mam- 
mon-service, of  which  complaint  has  been  made. 


196  THE    MOUNTAIN    TOWN. 

Again,  my  clerical  friend  is  a  devotee  to  the  natural 
sciences,  and  by  example  and  precept  has  dissemi- 
nated some  taste  for  these  subjects  among  his  peo- 
ple. With  Botany,  and  particularly  Entomology, 
he  is  minutely  familiar.  When  his  parishioners 
come  to  his  study  to  exchange  books,  (he  being  gen- 
eral librarian,)  they  occasionally  linger  over  the 
cabinet  of  insects,  shelves  of  minerals,  and  collec- 
tion of  plants  and  flowers,  thereby  themselves 
catching  a  taste  for  the  charming  studies  of  nature. 
It  is  particularly  interesting,  to  observe  the  children 
hang  with  wondering  delight  over  the  glories  of  the 
floral  kingdom  and  the  insect  tribes,  before  they 
trip  away  with  their  exchange  from  the  book-shelf. 
The  little  folks  are  thus  led  not  only  to  observe  the 
flowers  of  the  field  more  critically,  and  to  chase  the 
"  blossom  of  the  air,"  as  Bryant  calls  the  butterfly, 
but  to  look  sharply  after  the  comparatively  despised 
bugs  of  the  sod,  and  worms  of  the  dust, — finding 
the  Divine  skill,  beauty  and  perfection,  where  most 
never  think  to  stoop  for  them.  Now  and  then  the 
little  philosopher  imagines  he  has  found  a  specimen, 
which  his  Minister  does  not  know  of,  as  he  has  not 
seen  it  in  his  collection,  and  away  he  runs  to  sur- 
prise the  good  man  with  his  discovery. 

I  trust  that  I  shall  be  pardoned  for  giving  such 
publicity  to  the  character  and  efforts  of  a  man  who, 
in  his  exceeding  modesty,  would  shrink  from  noto- 
riety. 1  do  it  for  the  effect  such  an  example  may 
have  on  others  similarly  situated.  See  what  good 
may  be  accomplished,  what  measures  of  enjoyment 


THE    MOUNTAIN    TOWN.  197 

be  possessed,  by  a  clergyman,  though  in.  the  utmost 
seclusion  from  both  the  fashionable  and  the  literary 
world,  as  it  is  called.  Here,  at  the  distance  of 
seventy  miles  from  the  much  desired  advantages  of 
the  city,  and  forty  miles  from  even  a  rail-road,*  and 
on  the  rough  steep  hill-sides,  is  a  living  lesson 
which  should  not  be  lost  on  those  clergymen  who 
pine  after  the  pulpit  of  the  city,  or  the  populous 
village.  My  clerical  exemplar  makes  no  pretension 
to  graceful  gesture,  rhetorical  flourish,  or  any  thing 
like  commanding  eloquence.  Neither  do  the  hills 
perceptibly  tremble  beneath  his  pastoral  tread. 
Yet,  like  the  sunlight  and  the  dews,  what  changes 
does  he  accomplish  without  making  any  noise,  or 
startling  the  world  to  stop  and  gaze  as  he  operates. 
And  like  those  agents  of  nature  which  are  the  still- 
est though  the  mightiest,  such  a  man  works  without 
mention ;  the  lesson  of  his  example  is  unheeded. 
It  is  lightning  and  torrent,  in  the  spiritual  as  in  the 
material  world,  which  make  men  cry,  lo  !  here,  and 
lo  !  there.  They  are  sudden,  intense,  and  perhaps 
astonishing  in  their  action,  yet  how  brief  and  nar- 
row are  they,  comparatively,  in  beneficent  effects. 
I  would  by  no  means  however  assert,  or  imply, 
that  special,  occasional  and  tempest-like  exertion 
may  not  be  useful.  Let  those  who  are  capable  of 
such  art,  according  to  their  capabilities,  do  good  in 
their  own  way.  I  would  simply  suggest,  that  those 
who  cannot  compel  week-day  business  to  stop  and 

*  Rail-roads  have  now  been  laid  up  to  a  point  much  nearer  our  friend's  abode. 

17* 


198  THE    MOUNTAIN    TOWN. 

enter  into,  and  be  affected  by,,  their  operations, 
should  not  be  so  lightly  esteemed  in  comparison,  as 
many  seem  to  think.  I  would  present  to  those 
who  cannot  astound  with  great  things,  an  example 
of  accomplishing  great,  yea,  greatest  things,  with- 
eut  astounding.  For  is  it  not  a  great  thing,  yea, 
one  of  the  greatest,  to  take  the  inhabitants  of  a  re- 
mote and  rude  town,  and  not  only  lead  them  in  the 
ordinary  ways  of  religion,  but  guide  them  to  the 
study  of  all  the  Divine  works,  from  the  minutest, 
creeping  at  the  roots  or  unfolding  at  the  tips  of  the 
herbage,  to  the  mightiest,  which  circle  and -shine 
.in  the  celestial  immensity  ?  Is  it  not  glorious,  so 
-to  teach  and  exemplify,  that  out  of  nearly  infant 
mouths,  not  only  evangelically,  but  scientifically 
and  philosophically,  the  praise  of  God  is  perfected  ? 
Let  those  who  say,  yea,  go  and  do  likewise,  and 
great  shall  be  their  reward. 

When  I  began  this  article  with  an  allusion  to  the 
gain-getting  spirit,  and  with  the  fore-mention  of  an 
instructive  incident,  I  did  not  anticipate  that  so 
wide  a  space  would  intervene  before  I  should  come 
to  my  story.  But  that  scenery  burst  anew  and  so 
inspiringly  on  my  conceptions,  that  I  could  not  but 
describe  it ;  that  friend  came  so  dearly  and  instruc- 
tively into  remembrance,  that  I  did  not  like  at  once 
to  dismiss  him.  And  now,  as  an  introduction  to 
my  incident,  I  would  remark,  that  I  am  pleased  to 
imagine  that  the  part  acted  by  the  above-named 
individual,  in  the  culture  of  the  young,  tended  to 
paint  the  incident  with  its  moral  beauty  and  to  point 
it  with  keen  instruction. 


THE    MOUNTAIN   TOWN.  199 

Early  one  summer  morning,  I  was  traveling  in  a 
chaise  through  this  mountain  town.  I  had  arrived 
near  the  outskirts,  when  I  fancied  that  I  heard  a 
singular  noise,  but  did  not  then  stop  or  look  out  to 
see  what  it  might  be,  as  I  was  in  particular  haste  to 
my  destination.  I  drove  rapidly  on.  But  soon 
the  noise  again  startled  my  ear,  and  seemingly  the 
shrill  scream  of  a  human  being.  Still  driving  on, 
I  leaned  out  of  the  vehicle  to  learn  whence  came 
the  piercing  sound.  I  then  discovered  a  boy  pur- 
suing me  at  the  top  of  his  speed,  and  crying  after 
me  to  stop,  which  I  now  did.  He  came  up  nearly 
exhausted  by  half  a  mile's  run,  with  his  bosom  all 
open,  and  his  face  all  reddened  with  the  heat,  and 
reeking  with  perspiration,  and  he  pantingly  exclaim- 
ed, "  You  are  losing  your  trunk,  Sir."  At  this  in- 
formation I  leaped  out,  and  surely  my  trunk  was 
in  a  deplorable  condition.  It  had  been  fastened 
beneath  the  axle-tree.  But  one  of  the  straps  had 
got  broken,  and  it  was  dangling  by  the  other  now 
almost  wrested  off,  having  been  knocked  against  the 
stones  and  dragged  through  dust  and  mud  till  it  was 
a  sorry  sight.  I  requested  my  benevolent  informer 
to  stand  at  the  horse's  head  till  I  should  put  it  into 
safety.  Of  course  such  a  boy,  or  any  boy,  could 
not  but  do  this  under  such  circumstances.  When 
ready  to  start  again,  in  spontaneous  gratitude  I  held 
out  a  piece  of  money,  of  more  tempting  value  than 
our  smallest  silver  coin  ;  and  lo  !  the  little  fellow 
drew  back,  and  straightened  up,  and  with  a  keener 
eye,  and  almost  an  offended  tone,  exclaimed — "Do 


200  THE    MOUNTAIN    TOWN. 

you  think  I  would  take  pay  for  that?"  I  could 
not  prevail  on  him  to  receive  the  least  compensa- 
tion. I  went  on  my  journey,  rejoicing  in  the  acci- 
dent, although  it  was  to  cost  me  the  repairing  of 
my  torn  and  bruised  trunk.  It  had  made  known 
to  me  one  magnanimous  boy.  For,  how  many 
much  slighter  favors  had  I  received  from  the  young, 
who  capered  away  insensible  to  the  pleasure  of 
doing  a  kindness,  in  the  satisfaction  of  "  taking 
pay  for  that."  Ay,  thought  I,  this  boy  is  an  honor 
to  the  common  school ;  he  is  a  Christian  learner 
in  my  friend's  Sunday  School ;  he  is  a  diligent 
reader  of  the  juvenile  library.  Blessed  pupil  of  a 
blessed  pastor !  thy  getting  is  the  true  and  the  best 
one,  that  of  understanding ;  to  thee,  "  wisdom  is 
the  principal  thing."  How  many,  many  times 
since,  have  I  thought  of  that  boy,  and  wished  that 
I  knew  his  name,  and  could  trace  his  onward 
course.  How  many  times,  in  my  wanderings  and 
stoppings  within  sight,  even  within  the  most  distant 
glimpses  of  the  peaked  crown  of  that  proud  old 
hill-king,  have  I  thought  of  that  grand,  that  royal- 
spirited  boy.  That  mountain,  by  natural  associa- 
tion, is  to  me  a  most  fit  monument  to  one  magna- 
nimity towering  above  many  meannesses. 

Ye  boys,  and  indeed  ye  men,  of  our  country,  to 
whom  the  moral  of  my  story  may  apply,  I  pray  you, 
when  you  shall  perform  a  little  favor  spontaneously, 
or  even  by  request,  let  your  souls  stand  up  in  true 
nobility — in  the  heavenward  grandeur  of  disinter- 
estedness, and  say  in  the  spirit,  "  Do  you  think  I 
would  take  pay  for  that  ?  " 


THE 


LIGHTHOUSE    OF   LIGHTHOUSES. 


THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 


IT  was  a  bright,  glad,  summer  afternoon,  on 
which,  by  invitation,  we  were  seated  in  a  carriage 
with  a  party  of  young  friends,  all  of  them  as  bright 
and  glad  as  the  day.  Onr  aim  was  a  magnificent 
sea-view  at  Marblehead  Neck.  We  love  scenery, 
as  did  also  our  company,  and  we  should  like  much 
to  describe  the  delightful  pictures  of  land  and 
water  on  the  way,  and  the  ocean  grandeur  at  the 
termination  of  our  ride.  But  we  have  in  our 
present  writing  a  particular  and  rather  uncommon 
theme  for  public  attention  ;  so  to  this  we  will  con- 
fine our  pen.  We  came  to  gaze  on  the  dark,  blue 
spaciousness  of  the  waters,  but  we  found  that 
which  sunk  deeper  into  our  memories  and  hearts 
than  this,  inasmuch  as  it  was  a  sort  of  unexpected 
discovery,  fraught  with  instruction  profitable  to  go 
with  us  through  life. 

There  was  the  Lighthouse — our  fair  companions 
must  look  at  a  novelty  like  this.  As  the  lofty  sea- 
beacon  could  not  come  up  to  the  city,  it  was  not 


204  THE    LIGHTHOUSE. 

well  to  lose  the  opportunity  of  visiting  it  on  its 
rocky  stand.  So  thither  we  turned  our  steps,  just 
to  take  a  glance,  as  we  supposed,  and  then  away. 
As  we  gazed  towards  the  little  cluster  of  buildings 
occupied  by  the  keeper,  we  could  not  but  observe 
the  air  of  convenience  and  neatness  of  every  thing 
around.  The  first  object  of  a  domestic  nature  we 
arrived  at  was  a  little  yard,  the  home  and  bed  of 
the  family  cow  of  a  summer  night.  Every  thing 
about  it,  down  to  the  stool  of  the  milker  and  the 
fastening  of  the  gate,  arrested  our  attention  on 
account  of  the  ingenuity  of  contrivance  and  clean- 
liness of  condition.  We  passed  through  an  enclos- 
ure, and  over  what  would  be  called  a  lawn,  if 
fashion  dwelt  there,  and  came  to  an  outhouse, 
where  the  keeper  was  industriously  mending  a  sail. 
He  seemed  about  sixty  years  of  age,  with  a  sky- 
blue  eye,  and  an  expression  beaming  therefrom  as 
bright  and  kindly  as  a  star.  A  plump  chest,  and  a 
full,  ruddy  cheek  indicated  that  threescore  years 
seldom  rejoiced  in  happier  health  than  in  him  who 
now  welcomed  us  to  his  premises.  We  found  him 
most  agreeably  communicative  concerning  matters 
around,  of  which  we  wished  to  know.  Some  of 
his  intelligence  we  should  like  here  to  put  down, 
would  our  principal  aim  allow  us  time  and  space. 
At  the  slightest  expression  of  our  desire  to  see  the 
lighthouse,  our  entertainer  conducted  us  to  the  edi- 
fice. But  before  we  describe  thei»«pectacle  at  its 
top,  let  us  first  touch  on  things  below.  The  old 
shop  where  our  friend  labored  was  a  pattern  of  neat- 


THE    LIGHTHOUSE.  205 

ness.  The  various  implements  there  sheltered, 
were  arranged  in  the  utmost  order,  and  there  was 
so  little  dust  that  our  ladies  could  sit  on  bench, 
block  or  old  timber,  without  the  slightest  soiling  of 
garments.  We  could  not  but  observe,  as  we  passed, 
the  exceeding  tidiness  of  the  dwelling-house,  not 
only  in  front,  but  on  the  back  side  where  less  ex- 
posed, and  so  also  of  all  the  appurtenances  around. 
Had  it  been  the  summer  retreat  of  city  opulence, 
whatever  else  might  have  been,  there  could  not 
have  existed  an  order  and  cleanliness  superior  to  the 
present.  The  fences  of  rude  stones  from  the  pas- 
tures and  shores  were  not  disfigured  by  unsightly 
gaps  at  the  top,  or  rubbish  along  the  base.  The 
little  patches  of  cultivation  showed  not  a  weed,  to 
steal  from  the  useful  vegetables  the  nutriment  of 
the  soil,  or  the  now  needed  dews  from  the  air. 
These  little  spots,  won  and  softened  from  sterile 
nature,  forcibly  reminded  us  of  what  we  had  read 
about  Swiss  industry  and  thrift. 

Now  to  the  tower.  The  keeper  leads  us  up  the 
stairway,  which  is  as  clean  as  if  all  the  maids  in 
Marblehead  had  watched  over  its  scrubbing,  or  the 
notable  witches  of  Salem  had  nightly  trooped  over 
it  with  their  brooms.  We  reach  the  lantern,  and 
find  ourselves  encompassed  by  glass,  with  a  July 
sun  blazing  in  with  melting  potency.  But  w§ 
scarcely  heed  our  bodily  discomfort,  so  interested 
are  we  in  the  objects  before  the  eye,  and  the  ex- 
planations kindly  proffered  to  the  ear.  The  floor 
is  of  stone,  and  as  unsoiled  and  polished  as  the 
18 


206  THE    LIGHTHOUSE. 

hearth  of  a  drawing-room.  There  are  ten  lamps,  if 
we  rightly  remember,  to  be  kept  burning  from  twi- 
light to  twilight.  Of  course,  there  is  the  daily 
business  of  filling  with  oil,  and  the  nightly  care  of 
snuffing  the  wicks  and  keeping  them  at  their  best 
flame.  In  these  operations  all  know  the  liabilities 
of  spilling  oil  and  of  dropping  the  black,  filthy 
snuffings  around.  Yet  there  was  not  the  slightest 
appearance  of  any  such  mishap  or  carelessness  here. 
The  stand  of  an  astral  in  the  most  tasteful  home  could 
not  less  have  betokened  the  above-mentioned  pro- 
cesses, than  did  this  dome  and  every  thing  therein, 
— although  so  secluded  and  unexposed  to  visitation. 
The  metal  and  glasses  of  the  lamps,  and  all  the 
complicated  machinery,  were  as  free  from  all  soil 
as  the  genteelest  housewifery  could  desire  in  the 
domestic  domain.  The  reflectors  corresponding 
with  the  ten  lamps  were  of  the  highest  polish,  and 
reflecting,  as  some  of  them  now  did,  the  direct  rays 
of  an  intense  sun,  our  eyes  could  hardly  bear  their 
dazzling  brilliancy. 

So  much  for  appearances.  Now  how  came  they 
so  perfect,  so  unequalled  by  any  similar  establish- 
ment that  we  had  ever  seen  ?  In  the  first  place,  the 
keeper  had  an  innate  love  of  order  and  neatness,  or 
he  had  trained  himself  thereto.  Besides  this,  he 
exercised  an  inventive  talent  and  constructive  tact, 
by  which  he  produced  numerous  little  contrivances 
for  abbreviating  labor,  and  by  which  he  avoided 
those  uncleanly  nuisances  which  otherwise  might 
have  accumulated.  But  chiefly,  he  was  moved  by 


THE    LIGHTHOUSE.  207 

a  determination  to  do  his  duty  to  the  utmost,  and 
more  even  than  his  employer,  the  Government, 
would  ordinarily  consider  his  duty.  He  would 
conform  not  merely  to  the  common  custom  and 
expectations  appertaining  to  his  post,  but  he  would 
ascend  to  the  mark  prescribed  by  his  own  lofty 
conscience.  He  would  gratify,  moreover,  those 
delicate  tastes,  whether  inborn  or  acquired,  which 
in  another  situation,  and  with  wealth,  might 
have  s;  read  beauty  around,  and  collected  elegancies 
within  the  costly  mansion  for  the  entertainment  of 
refined  acquaintance.  As  it  was,  he  made  the  most 
of  his  position.  He  might  say  with  Paul,  "  I  mag- 
nify mine  office." 

And  now,  a  word  as  to  the  compensation  of  such 
faithful  care,  and  gratuitous,  unnoticed,  unpraised 
propriety.  This  man  had  once  held  with  honor 
the  responsible  station  of  Gunner  on  board  of  one 
of  the  distinguished  and  victorious  vessels  of  the 
last  war.  He  had  been  for  years  in  the  perilous 
service  of  his  country.  He  still  serves  the  public 
in  this  seclusion  for  the  stipend  of  four  hundred 
dollars,  together  with  the  use  of  the  little  plot  of 
land  and  buildings  appertaining  to  his  charge.  A 
miserable  reward  for  such  industry  by  day,  and 
watchings  by  night,  and  solitude  at  all  times ! 
Here  he  must  abide,  not  only  through  the  more 
bland  and  agreeable  seasons,  but  through  the  long, 
long,  dreary  winter,  cut  off  from  church  and  school  in 
the  town  by  an  arm  of  the  sea.  He  must  not  only 
be  at  the  expense  of  boarding  his  children  out  for 


208  THE    LIGHTHOUSE. 

their  education,  but  be  deprived  of  their  dear  society, 
so  cheering  to  the  loneliness  of  father  and  mother. 
If  sickness  suddenly  invade  his  dwelling  amid  the 
wintry  tempests,  the  pitiless  elements  are  almost  the 
only  comforters  that  can  well  approach  from  with- 
out. Four  hundred  dollars  !  Any  lighthouse-tender 
should  receive  more  than  this  to  compensate  him 
for  his  privations.  But  this  noble  old  patriot  is 
deserving  of  a  thousand  dollars,  as  much  as  hun- 
dreds of  other  public  servants  who  do  nothing  but 
easily  tend  upon  goose-quill  and  fool's-cap  in  car- 
peted offices,  surrounded  by  all  that  makes  life 
pleasurable.  The  Government  should  grant  him 
at  least  a  premium  for  his  example.  His  lighthouse 
not  only  directs  the  seaman  on  his  dangerous 
course,  but  were  its  superior  keeping  known  and 
commended,  it  might  be  a  lighthouse  to  the  light- 
houses on  all  the  coasts  and  isles  of  the  seas,  shining 
conspicuous  above  them,  and  illuminating  the  way 
to  perfect  management. 

But  still  farther,  our  hitherto  obscure  friend 
should  be  known  and  honored,  if  not  more  substan- 
tially rewarded,  for  his  fine  moral  qualities,  and 
their  exemplary  influence.  Where  such  rare  order 
and  purity  prevail  in  an  establishment  like  this,  so 
unexposed  to  human  observation,  we  may  be  quite 
sure  that  more  than  common  propriety  reigns  in  the 
mind  that  here  presides.  He  who  thus  magnifies 
his  office  cannot  but  be  of  magnified  soul.  We 
ourselves  deeply  felt  the  teaching  of  his  example. 
We  seemed  to  be  girded  by  a  new  energy  to  return 


THE    LIGHTHOUSE.  209 

to  the  duties  of  our  own  sphere,  and  strive  to  the 
utmost  for  perfection.  We  resolved  to  contrive  a 
remedy  for  inconveniences,  instead  of  complaining 
of  them  ;  to  seize  on  all  profitable  opportunities, 
instead  of  indolently  letting  them  pass  by  our 
folded  hands.  Now  let  our  office  be  magnified. 
Let  our  lamp  be  polished  and  ever  trimmed  and 
burning  to  the  brightest,  whether  the  world  witness 
or  not.  So  help  us,  Infinite  Father  of  lights  ! 

We  cannot  but  remark  before  closing,  for  the 
sake  of  an  interesting  association  of  ideas,  that  we 
learned  the  name  of  this  pattern  beacon-keeper  to 
be  Darling.  On  the  announcement,  our  minds  at 
once  recurred  to  the  heroic  Grace,  and  her  father, 
whom  we  had  lately  admired  for  their  adventurous 
feats  of  mercy  on  the  British  coast.  This  man,  we 
will  hazard  to  say,  would  exhibit  a  kindred  spirit  in 
behalf  of  suffering.  Here  is  a  magnanimous  na- 
ture crowned  with  an  honored  name.  We  now 
commend  Captain  Darling  to  "  the  powers  that  be." 
Let  them  at  least  cause  his  example  to  shine  close 
before  all  of  similar  vocation,  from  East  port  to  the 
country's  last  Southwest. 

But,  good  old  friend,  noble  patriot,  as  faithful  in 
the  deepest  seclusion  of  peace  as  in  the  glare  and 
plaudits  of  war !  it  matters  not  to  thine  own  soul, 
except  in  the  desire  to  extend  improvement, 
whether  thou  shall  remain  unnoticed  or  not.  Let 
a  Government  inspector  visit  thee  but  once  a  year, 
and  praise,  and  straightway  forget  thy  merits ;  let 
President  and -Secretaries  never  hear  of  thee  j  yet 
18* 


210  THE    LIGHTHOUSE. 

this  cannot  prevent  the  lofty  stand  of  thine  own 
consciousness.  Thou  wilt  still  do  thine  utmost 
duty  in  thy  rocky  solitude.  Thine  own  several 
virtues  shall  commune  together  rejoicing,  and  speak 
thee  peace.  And  to  our  fancy,  if  not  to  thine,  the 
seas  shall  send  up  their  white-plumed  surges  with 
tones  of  approval.  The  sunlight  and  the  showers 
shall  aid  thy  neat  husbandry  with  almost  a  con- 
.scious  gladness  that  they  are  blessing  the  merito- 
rious. The  clouds  shall  not  over-shadow  thy  spirit 
with  darkness,  and  the  clear  heavens  shall  look 
down  with  starry  eyes  of  kindness  as  thou  punc- 
tually arisest  to  trim  thy  beacon-flame,  whilst  the 
commerce-blessed  nation  whom  thou  servest  takes 
unbroken  sleep.  But  a  purer  era  is  coming.  Then 
shall  true  worth  be  better  known.  Secret  things 
shall  be  proclaimed  from  the  house-tops.  "The 
first  shall  be  last,  and  the  last  first."  The  great 
moral  world  shall  wake  up  in  its  undying  spirit  and 
anxiously  ask  of  such,  "  Watchman,  what  of  the 
night  ?  " 

NOTE. — In  the  republication  of  the  foregoing  article,  the  writer 
•would  take  the  opportunity  to  remark,  that  a  wider  observation 
might  have  found  upon  our  coast  other  lighthouses  and  other 
keepers  that  would  have  excited  perhaps  equal  admiration. 


THE  DARK  OF  AUTUMN 

AXD  THE 

BRIGHT  OF  WINTER  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


At  the  request  of  Miss  Leslie,  for  an  article  from  the  present 
•Writer,  the  following  was  contributed  to  her  "  Gift,"  of  1836  ;  but 
the  name  of  the  author,  usually  attached  in  such  cases,  was  acci- 
dentally omitted.  It  seemed  proper  to  make  this  statement,  that 
the  authorship  of  an  anonymous  piece  taken  from  the  Annual, 
might  not  be  supposed  to  be  claimed  without  right. 


THE  DARK  OF  AUTUMN  AND  THE  BRIGHT  OF  WINTER 
IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 


I  HAVE  a  cousin  born  and  bred  in  one  of  the 
West  India  Islands.  How  I,  a  New  Englander, 
happened  to  have  such  a  relative  there,  matters  not 
to  my  story.  Of  course,  I  had  an  uncle  ;  and  if 
you  only  think  of  the  sheen  of  a  Spanish  dollar 
glittering  upon  the  eye  of  acquisitiveness,  you  will 
not  wonder  that  my  uncle  married  and  settled  in  a 
climate  so  different  from  that  of  his  nativity.  Well, 
this  cousin  visited  his  father's  relatives  in  New 
England,  for  the  first  time,  in  the  summer  of  the 
year  18 — .  He  spent  some  months  with  us,  for 
the  purpose  of  crowning  his  mercantile  education 
with  some  branches  not  so  well  acquired  in  his  na- 
tive island.  The  early  part  of  December  was  the 
time  set  for  his  return.  He  shuddered  at  the  very 
thought  of  exposing  his  tropical  organization  to  the 
severities  of  our  winter.  He  began  to  shiver  with 
cold,  and  to  curl  over  a  fire  in  serene  September. 
The  calmness  and  southwestern  softness  of  our  In- 
dian summer,  with  all  its  "  pomp  of  hues,"  could 
hardly  reconcile  him  to  our  frosty  nights.  As  the 


214  THE    DARK    OF    AUTUMN 

cold  season  advanced,  he  began  to  grow  desperate. 
He  rolled  in  his  extremities,  as  the  leaves  do,  by 
the  potency  of  frost.  Finally,  he  betook  himself 
to  some  friends  in  the  city,  for  he  supposed  it  might 
be  rather  more  comfortable  amid  brick  walls  and  a 
sea-softened  atmosphere,  than  it  was  so  far  to  the 
north,  and  so  high  in  the  sky,  as  was  our  hilly 
town.  Yet  he  made  us  one  more  visit,  previous  to 
sailing  for  his  own  dear  clime  of  the  sun.  He 
would  not  have  dared  a  chilly  journey  of  more  than 
fifty  miles  into  the  country,  but  here  was  his  father's 
birth-place,  and  the  home  of  his  ancestors ;  and, 
more  than  all,  he  really  loved  us,  as  he  found  that 
the  Granite  State,  where  we  lived,  had  imparted 
nothing  of  its  stone  to  our  hearts. 

The  day  our  tender-bodied  friend  arrived,  was 
the  very  last  and  the  very  gloomiest  of  November. 
The  aspects  of  earth  and  sky  were  to  most  natives, 
as  well  as  to-  the  tropic-bred,  about  the  same  for 
cheerfulness  as  the  circumstances  of  a  funeral. 
Indeed,  death  in  unburied  deformity  was  every- 
where around,  in  respect  to  the  vegetable  tribes. 
Field,  pasture,  and  woodland,  in  summer  so  vari- 
ously beautiful,  were  now  all  dark  and  desolate,  in 
the  last  stages  of  autumnal  decay.  And,  to  multi- 
ply the  images  of  mortality,  our  West  Indian,  in 
jocular  spleen,  said,  that  the  trees  were  like  lifeless 
skeletons,  with  their  bare  and  cold  bony  limbs  rat- 
tling against  each  other  in  the  wind.  No  wonder 
that  even  these  long-living  giants  of  vegetation 
looked,  also,  like  the  dead,  to  an  eye  accustomed  to 
perennial  verdure. 


AND    THE    BRIGHT    OP    WINTER.  215 

The  visible  heavens,  moreover,  shed  down  no 
consolation  for  the  departed  life  and  comeliness  of 
earth.  The  sky  was  ceiled  around  with  leaden,  and 
still  more  darkly  bine  clouds;  forming,  as  it  were, 
fit  dome  for  those  malignant  powers  of  the  air  that 
deepen  pensiveness  into  melancholy,  and  force  de- 
spair /into  suicide,  in  some  unfortunate  tempera- 
ments. The  waters,  too,  which  will  sparkle  in  the 
clear  sun  as  cheerfully  as  when  the  vernal  leaves 
put  out  over  them,  or  the  summer  flowers  grace  their 
borders  ; — they  had  caught  the  sadness  of  the  sea- 
son, and  seemed  to  reflect  from  their  bosom  the 
chill  of  the  clouds,  as  well  as  their  hue.  There 
was  wanting  only  one  circumstance  more  to  give  to 
the  day  the  last  and  superlative  degree  of  cheerless- 
ness,  and  this  was  that  blue  breath  of  the  sea- 
demons,  the  northeast  wind. 

Such  was  the  day  on  which  our  visitor  from  the 
torrid  zone  arrived  at  our  door,  with  his  face,  hands, 
and  heart,  all  im-blued  with  its  influences.  After 
our  cordial  salutations  arid  genial  fireside  had  re- 
possessed him  with  comfort,  we  spent  a  right  merry 
evening,  making  him  feel  that  ours  was  no  unfa- 
vorable climate  for  hearts. 

Just  before  retiring  for  the  night,  it  was  observed 
that  the  clouds  had  closed  mistily  together,  and 
were  drooping  lower,  betokening  some  kind  of  visi- 
tation from  them  before  morning.  But  the  tem- 
perature was  just  at  that  point  at  which  the  most 
infallible  almanac-maker  dare  not  be  more  positive 
than  to  say,  "  Rain,  hail,  or  snow,  or  some  sort  of 


216  THE    DARK    OF    AUTUMN 

weather  before  long."  Next  morning  we  were 
surprised  to  find  that  about  four  inches  of  snow  had 
fallen  during  the  night.  It  was  quite  remarkable 
that  the  first  snow  should  come  exactly  with  the 
first  day  of  winter.  The  sky  was  now  as  clear  as 
on  the  first  morning  of  light,  before  a  cloud  had 
been  made,  or  a  mist  had  gone  up.  It  was  truly 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  days  that  ever  dropped 
from  the  sun.  Now,  thought  I,  cousin  Ferdinand 
will  behold  a  sight  such  as  he  never  saw  before, 
and  one  worth  traveling  for  far,  and  tarrying  for 
long.  I  roused  him  from  his  slumbers,  that  I 
might  be  sure  to  witness  his  surprise.  As  the 
white  curtains  were  let  down  so  as  completely  to 
cover  the  windows,  he  did  not  perceive  the  change 
that  had  taken  place,  before  he  left  his  chamber.  I 
contrived  to  get  his  half-opened  eyes  to  the  door 
before  he  discovered  it.  I  suddenly  flung  the  door 
wide  open,  and  let  the  unexpected  scene  upon  his 
startled  sight — a  landscape  of  spreading  plains,  oval 
hills,  and  peaked  mountains ;  yesterday  so  drearily 
dark,  but  now  all  arrayed  in  the  purest  white,  and 
bounded  by  the  soft  contrast  of  the  azure  heaven. 
As  there  had  been  but  little  or  no  wind,  the  snow 
had  fallen  as  even  as  ever  the  hand  of  art  had  laid 
the  carpets  of  a  palace.  -  And  it  had  descended  so 
gently  and  moist,  that  it  lodged  wherever  it  touched. 
All  the  fences  were  edged,  and  the  posts  were 
capped  with  white.  But  the  trees  were  the  most 
curious  spectacle.  Every  branch  and  twig,  before 
so  naked  and  black,  was  now  clothed  and  bright 


AND    THE    BRIGHT    OF    WINTER.  217 

with  this  bloom  from  the  skies.  Here  and  there 
curling  tendrils,  and  more  pendent  boughs,  making 
one  think  of  flowery  wreaths  and  festoons.  At  the 
moment,  moreover,  the  rising  sun  was  just  gazing 
from  the  horizon  on  the  white  expanse,  which  gave 
back  into  his  own  rejoicing  face  the  perfect  reflec- 
tion of  all  his  harmoniously  mingled  hues.  Such 
was  the  scene  which  broke  with  the  suddenness  of 
enchantment  on  the  young  man's  vision.  He  would 
scarcely  have  been  more  astonished  and  enraptured 
had  he  fallen  asleep  in  our  dismal  north,  and  awaked 
to  gaze  on  the  flowery  paradise  of  his  own  native 
isle.  Indeed,  had  equatorial  Flora  herself  been 
here,  she  might  have  been  consumed  with  envy,  as 
well  as  been  congealed  by  cold.  For  there  were 
forms  and  colors  which  she  could  not  equal,  with 
all  her  skill.  The  surface  of  the  frost-work  was 
one  boundless  continuity  of  the  minutest  prisms, 
all  radiant' with  the  seven-hued  light,  as  if  powdered 
with  particles  of  rainbow.  Certain  I  am,  that  in 
all  nature  there  is  not  a  texture  or  a  tinting  more 
exquisitely  delicate  than  this  ;  it  is  the  nearest  ap- 
proach to  the  spiritual  that  the  human  eye  beholds 
in  things  material. 

I  need  not  record  the  ohs  and  ahs,  and  all  the 
extravagant  superlatives,  now  uttered  by  my  be- 
wildered and  transported  cousin.  He  found  no 
more  fault  with  the  manifold  and  uncomfortable 
changes  of  our  capricious  climate.  He  felt  that 
autumn's  darkest,  might  well  be  endured  for  the 
sake  of  beholding  winter's  brightest,  enhanced  by 
such  a  contrast. 
19 


218     AUTUMN  AND  WINTER  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

I  might  now  describe  the  pleasures  of  the  sleigh- 
ride  we  gave  our  novelty-struck  tropic  man.  I 
might  speak  also  of  the  new  life  and  gladness  in- 
fused by  this  snow-fall  into  our  rural  population, 
making  the  feet  of  business  dance  to  the  jingling 
melodies  of  the  merry  bells.  But  I  can  now  sketch 
but  a  single  scene  from  the  snow-bright  season. 
However,  I  assure  all  dwellers  in  the  sunny  south, 
that  one  might  fill  a  volume,  describing  the  beauties 
and  sublimities,  the  sports,  comforts  and  delights 
of  winter  in  New  England. 


SCENEKY-SHOWING, 


WORD-PAINTINGS    OF   THE    BEAUTIFUL,  THE  PIC- 
TURESQUE,  AND  THE  GRAND  IN  NATURE. 


"  So  my  friend, 

Struck  with  Jeep  joy  may  stand,  ai  1  hare  stood, 
Silent  with  swimming  tense;  yea, 
•        *        *        gaze  till  all  doth  seem 
Lesi  grot*  than  bodily ;  a  living  thing 
Which  acti  upon  the  mind,  and  with  such  hues 
At  clothe  the  All-mighty  Spirit  when  he  make* 
Spirit*  perceive  his  pretence  I  " — Coleridge. 


TO 

GEORGE  B.  EMERSON,  ESQ., 

PRESIDENT  OF  THE  AMERICAN  INSTITUTE  OF  INSTRUCTION. 

DEAR  SIR, 

The  germ  of  the  present  little  work  was  a  Lecture  delivered 
before  the  body  over  which  you  preside,  in  the  summer  of 
1841.  The  favor  with  which  it  was  generally  received,  and 
especially  your  own  warm  commendation,  in  respect  to  its 
useful  tendency  toward  the  end  in  view,  have  encouraged  me 
to  this  enlargement  and  greater  finish.  I  now  beg  the  honor 
of  dedicating  the  humble  volume,  through  your  name,  to  SELF- 

CULTURISTS,  tO  PARENTS,  to    SCHOOL-TEACHERS,  and   to   those 

SCENERY-SEERS  who  can  already  say, 

"  With  a  pervading  vision — Beautiful ! 
How  beautiful  is  all  this  visible  world  !" 

With  the  highest  respect, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

WARREN  BURTON. 

May,  1844. 


SCENERY-SHOWING. 


CHAPTER    I. 

INTRODUCTION. 

"  How  lovely,  how  commanding  !  but  though  Heaven 
In  every  heart  hath  sown  these  early  seeds 
Of  love  and  admiration,  yet  in  vain 
Without  fair  culture's  kind  parental  aid." 

AKENSEDE, 

SCENERY  is  the  appearance  of  things  to  the  eye. 
The  term  is  here  applied  to  objects  on  the  face  of 
creation,  so  disposed  by  form,  color,  dimension,  or 
arrangement,  or  by  several  of  these  circumstances 
together,  as  to  afford  peculiar  enjoyment  to  the 
beholder. 

There  are  some,  predisposed  by  constitution,  or 
of  fortunate  early  education,  who  scarcely  remem- 
ber the  time  when  their  souls  were  not  pleasurably 
alive  to  the  beauty,  picturesqueness,  and  grandeur 
of  nature.  The  perceptions  of  others  are  awak- 
ened at  a  later  period,  and  then  they  never  cease 
to  rejoice,  as  at  the  opening  of  a  new  sense,  to  a 
divinely  adapted,  unalloyed,  and  sinless  gratifica- 


224  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

tion.  But  the  majority  of  people  spend  life  in  the 
midst  of  a  thousand  things  thus  interesting,  and 
seem  entirely  unconscious  of  the  charm  awaiting 
their  reception.  An  awful  thunder  cloud,  a  glorious 
rainbow,  or  a  magnificent  sunset,  might  be  noticed 
because  it  is  occasional ;  but  many  less  striking 
phenomena,  and  nearly  all  the  permanent  aspects  of 
nature,  might  as  well  not  have  been,  as  regards  fit- 
ness to  please  by  their  scenic  appearance.  This 
inadvertency  is  not  from  lack  of  faculty  to  admire, 
or  of  time  to  observe,  but  because  attention  has 
never  been  specifically  directed. 

Now,  notwithstanding  the  dormancy  of  the  taste 
in  view,  we  believe  it  may  be  aroused  in  most,  to 
receive  at  least  satisfactions  happening  in  the  way, 
if  not  to  go  with  amateur  zeal  in  search  of  the 
distant. 

The  aim  of  our  humble  work  is  to  awaken  per- 
-ception  and  relish  by  presenting  appropriate  objects. 
It  is  a  Scenery-showing  to  those  who  have  not 
much  contemplated  this  boundless  field  of  happiness 
-out-spread  by  skill  and  beneficence  Divine.  We 
would  supply  a  place  in  reading  which  has  hitherto 
been  nearly  or  quite  vacant.  We  hope,  however, 
not  to  be  altogether  unacceptable  to  those  whose 
taste  has  been  already  developed,  and  even  to  a 
degree  far  higher  than  our  own.  The  faint  word- 
paintings  on  our  page  may  serve  at  least  to  recall  to 
•conception  scenery  at  the  time  beyond  convenient 
.reach  ;  to  aid  them  to  live  over  again,  in  mind, 
unsiniiing,  heaven-like  moments,  when  they  stood 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  225 

in  admiration,  love  and  joy,  to  receive  into  vision 
its  choicest  riches.  We  trust,  moreover,  that  our 
endeavor  may  stimulate  such  readers  to  benevolent 
activity  in  a  simitar  direction.  We  now  respect- 
fully but  earnestly  enjoin  on  them  to  embrace  every 
opportunity  to  lead  others  to  a  good  which  Provi- 
dence has  before  vouchsafed  to  them,  as  by  especial 
favor. 

To  the  less  initiated  and  the  entirely  unapprecia- 
ting,  we  now  turn  address.  With  a  directness  of 
speech,  pardonable  from  sincerity  of  motive,  we 
entreat  them  to  a  diligent  self-culture  in  the  respect 
now  presented.  It  is  remarkable  how  a  taste  for 
scenery  will  grow,  with  pleasure  deepening  upon 
pleasure,  if  it  is  only  steadily  and  repeatedly 
directed.  It  is  with  the  mouldings  and  timings  of 
nature,  as  with  the  pencilings  of  art,  the  more  they 
are  studied  the  more  they  win  and  fasten  the  atten- 
tion. The  several  points  of  interest — figures,  hues, 
lights,  shades,  proportions — come  into  clearer  and 
clearer  distinctness;  indeed  they  seem  to  move  vis- 
ibly out,  as  it  were,  into  the  nearer  presence  of  the 
sight,  as  coveting  to  be  observed  and  to  confer  en- 
joyment. With  the  ordinary  mental  endowment,  any 
one  will  find  valuable  reward  for  such  employment 
of  leisure.  Those  of  an  organization  more  partic- 
ularly predisposing,  have  only  to  look,  to  love  to 
look,  till  their  taste  shall  grow  into  a  very  passion. 
We  beg  leave  to  illustrate  by  a  passage  of  experi- 
ence. But  first,  we  would  take  occasion  to  entreat 
the  candor  and  kind  regard  of  readers,  so  far  as  not 


226  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

to  impute  an  egotistical  obtrusivreness,  if  they  shall 
find  other  personal  references  by  way  of  illustration, 
or  increase  of  interest.  We  know  that  incident  in- 
fuses life  and' entertainment  into  description,  which 
otherwise  might  be  too  quiet  and  less  readable  to 
some  ;  and  if  the  incident  is  personal  to  the  narrator, 
and  modestly  presented,  it  has  an  air  of  fresh  truth- 
fulness far  more  absorbing.  Then  the  spirit  of 
the  writer,  thereby,  is  more  present  and  real  to  the 
spirit  of  the  peruser,  and  they  go  along  together  in 
more  sympathetic  companionship.  Having  thus 
humbly  deprecated  criticism  on  our  self- personalities, 
we  introduce  our  first  instance  of  the  kind. 

Not  long  ago,  after  a  month's  travel  in  a  portion 
of  country  new  to  us,  and  therefore  keeping  our 
perceptions  in  constant  exercise  by  change  of 
objects,  we  returned  to  Boston,  and  to  lodgings  in 
a  tame,  unsightly  street.  But  the  prevention  of  our 
customary  pleasure  was  quite  a  discomfort.  The 
city  seemed  like  a  very  prison.  As  the  nearest 
remedy,  we  took  to  the  Common.  It  never  before 
seemed  so  charming,  although  we  had  sauntered 
there  a  thousand  times,  rapt  with  its  surpassing 
loveliness.  It  was  now  a  perfect  paradise,  in  con- 
trast with  the  stiff,  dead  wood  and  brick,  from 
which  we  had  escaped.  We  were  surprised,  more- 
over, to  find  that  our  perceptive  faculties  had  re- 
markably gained  in  concentration  and  particularity 
of  attention.  We  observed  the  individual  form 
and  altitude  of  tree,  the  bend  of  bough,  the  circu- 
larity or  the  angular  juxtaposition  of  branches,  the 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  227 

fleeces  of  foliage,  the  hue  and  shape  of  skyey  inter- 
spaces, with  a  distinctness  that  was  a  marvel. 
There  we  stood  under  the  great  dome  of  elm  at  the 
centre,  and  gazed  up  into  its  leaf-walled  labyrinth 
of  crookednesses,  and  conned  them  this  way  and 
that  way,  all  round  and  all  through,  as  we  would 
the  lesson  of  a  book.  The  very  pathways,  before 
rather  tiresomely  straight,  now  pleasantly  invited 
the  eye  by  their  slight  but  clearly  defined  turnings 
to  and  fro,  and  undulations  up  and  down,  as  if  in 
gentle  sportiveness  along  the  verdure.  But,  O,  this 
verdure,  soft  as  velvet,  rich  as  emerald,  spreading 
between  the  brown  foot-courses,  and  lying  up  along 
the  terraces,  how  it  caught  the  eye  into  its  lovely 
embrace  and  held  it. 

Our  faculties  for  the  picturesque  and  beautiful 
had  been  at  school  with  nature  for  weeks,  and  they 
had  not  only  grown  in  affection  for  their  mistress, 
but  had  been  measurably  developed,  just  as  the 
organ  of  number  or  tune  may  be,  by  practice  and 
reiteration.  Indeed,  we  believe  that  one  might 
learn  to  live  in  and  be  lost  in  the  enchantments  of 
scenery  ;  the  sense  swimming  as  it  were  in  its  own 
boundless  element,  drinking  in  therefrom,  unsated, 
ever  growing  in  strength,  widening  in  capacity,  and 
perpetually  coveting  for  more. 

To  parents  and  teachers  we  now  turn  in  particu- 
lar address.  We  would  allure  their  eyes  to  seek 
and  fasten  delighted  on  those  scenes  in  nature  now 
about  to  be  presented  through  the  dim  medium  of 
language.  Let  them  be  sure  to  lead  to  the  same 


228  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

contemplation  the  tender  ones  under  their  respon- 
sible charge.  We  beseech  them  to  reflect,  what 
pure,  blissful  tastes  they  may  call  forth  from  their 
ready  and  waiting  minds  ;  to  consider  with  solemn 
conscientiousness,  what  foul  desires,  low  vanities, 
and  unworthy  images,  they  can  exclude  from  the 
immortal  capacity,  by  opening  it  wide  to  receive 
the  radiant  benefactions  of  the  Father  of  lights. 

We  have  also  a  word  of  injunction  for  those  of 
mature  age,  who  have  only  themselves  particularly 
to  care  for.  We  would  ask,  Ought  the  training  of 
the  young  to  be  a  matter  separate  from  even  their 
attention  and  sympathy  ?  Every  child  belongs  in 
some  sort  to  every  other  individual  near,  inasmuch 
as  he  may  make  or  mar  the  happiness  of  every 
other  by  his  character  and  conduct.  Is  not  moral 
darkness  a  lack  and  discomfort  to  all  beholders  ? 
And  does  not  moral  brightness  shine  out  pleasingly 
to  all  eyes  ?  Yes,  all  have  a  direct  interest  in  the 
education  of  the  young,  not  only  for  their  own 
sakes,  but  for  the  special  good  they  may  confer. 
Line  upon  line,  precept  upon  precept,  may  be  given 
in  instructive  conversation.  A  lecture,  from  those 
now  addressed,  on  any  useful  subject,  will  be  as 
valuable  to  a  juvenile  group,  or  to  a  single  individ- 
ual, as  it  would  be  from  parent  or  school-teacher. 
It  might  be  even  of  more  worth,  inasmuch  as  the 
unexpectedness  of  the  instruction  will  make  it  more 
impressive  and  remernberable.  We  make  applica- 
tion of  our  hints  to  the  topic  of  our  volume.  How 
might  they  excite  observation,  and  develop  a  taste 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  229 

for  scenery,  in  almost  any  youth  present  to  such 
attraction.  How  he  would  ever  afterward,  delight- 
fully remember  them  as  the  first  perhaps  to  make 
him  aware  of  such  pure  enjoyment.  We  know- 
that  they  can  do  this,  and  that  children  will  not  be 
dull  or  ungrateful  listeners.  A  portion  of  our  own 
experience  shall  illustrate. 

In  the  summer  of  1842,  on  a  pleasant  afternoon, 
we  had  occasion  to  visit  a  house  situated  on  what 
are  called  Roxbury  Highlands.  The  friend  we 
sought  being  at  the  time  absent,  we  wandered  out 
into  the  neighboring  grounds,  well  known  to  be 
charmingly  picturesque,  from  their  alternate  culture 
and  wildness.  Our  ramble  brought  us  to  a  clump 
of  trees  shooting  up  from  a  soil-covered  cliff.  Be- 
neath the  leafy  covert  was  a  rustic  seat,  convenient 
to  the  lounging  body  and  the  looking  eye.  And 
there  commenced  an  adventure,  which  we  now 
turn  to  account.  Here  were  two  boys,  of  ten  or  a 
dozen  years  old,  one  of  them  the  son  of  our  friend. 
They  seemed  to  have  provided  for  a  long  afternoon 
in  their  shady  perch,  by  a  store  of  bread  for  lun- 
cheon and  a  book  or  two  for  amusement.  The 
sight  was  gladdening.  The  future  literati  of  our 
land  they  might  be,  wise  enough  already  to  know 
that  fragrant  earth  and  fanning  breezes  were  ele- 
ments of  healthy  growth  both  to  body  and  spirit. 
They  might  be  two  embryo  Howitts,  who  would 
some  time  write  "Rural  Life"  in  America.  At 
first  our  new  acquaintances  were  rather  shy,  seem- 
ing to  prefer  alternate  snatches  at  their  bread-feed. 
20 


230  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

and  book-feed  to  our  conversation.  But  we  knew 
how  to  take  boyhood,  and  we  quite  soon  dropped 
into  their  companionship,  as  easily  as  we  might 
have  dropped  with  them  on  the  greensward.  We 
contrived  to  get  them  into  our  own  current  of 
entertainment,  which  was  scenery-seeing,  and  they 
took  to  it  marvelously,  entirely  forgetting  their  loaf 
and  literature.  If  we  recollect  right  at  this  distance 
of  time,  there  was  near  by,  a  tree  of  singular  appear- 
ance. They  had  before  observed  it  as  curious; 
and  now,  excited  by  our  own  interest  in  the  object, 
they  descanted  on  it  with  surprising  volubility. 
They  were  now  ready  to  follow  the  pointing  of 
our  finger  or  the  guidance  of  our  footsteps  any- 
where. We  showed  them  a  narrow  field,  with  a 
grey  fence  at  one  end  and  a  cliff  at  the  other,  if  we 
remember,  and  on  each  side  a  grove,  walling  it  up 
with  thick-set  trunks  all  regularly  round,  and  over- 
towered  by  interlapping  foliage.  We  made  them, 
gaze  at  the  spectacle  till  they  thought  it  beautiful, 
and  seeming  almost  like  a  very  picture  in  a  book. 
We  then  went  down  to  a  brook  that  stole  out  into 
view  from  a  bridge-shadow  and  flowed  beside  a 
dusty  road,  and  we  gazed  down  upon  its  ripples 
and  the  stones  and  pebbles  that  spotted  and  specked 
and  roughened  the  bed  beneath.  They  seemed 
interested  in  the  sight.  At  any  rate  they  looked, 
and  looking  was  a  discipline  that  would  lead  into 
pleasure.  We  came  back  and  ranged  below  a  long 
high  cliff  overtopped  by  trees.  We  tried  to  make 
them  feel  the  picturesqueness,  although  they  might 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  231 

not  have  understood  the  word  by  which  we  now 
express  the  idea.  We  are  certain  that  they  caught 
the  desirable  emotions.  Indeed  the  boys  grew 
lively  and  emphatic  in  their  admiration  of  the 
various  features  of  the  landscape.  We  were  soon 
joined  in  our  rambles  by  a  little  girl,  the  sister  of 
one  of  our  companions,  and  she  too  caught  the 
spirit  of  our  pastime.  They  all,  with  glowing  faces 
and  beaming  eyes,  ran  through  the  groves,  scram- 
bled up  rocks,  getting  a  peep  here  and  a  peep  there; 
then  they  mounted  up  a  wooden  prospect-tower  in 
one  of  the  grounds  for  a  wider  view  and  still  new  ob- 
jects, exclaiming  at  the  different  points,  see  here,  or 
see  there,  and  isn't  this,  that,  or  the  other,  beautiful, 
or  grand?  Thus  we  were  held  till  it  grew  quite 
toward  evening,  and  we  were  obliged  to  leave  the 
most  elating  companionship  we  had  known  for 
many  a  day.  A  large  portion  of  the  zest  might 
have  been  the  result  of  mere  animal  spirits,  yet 
there  was  withal  a  kindled  and  still  kindling  love 
for  scenery  ;  we  know  it  was  so,  and  in  consequence 
of  our  success  we  truly  wished  that  there  might 
be  such  an  establishment  as  a  Scenery  School,  and 
that  we  could  be  appointed  Professor  of  the  charm- 
ing science  of  the  Picturesque.  A  few  days  after 
our  adventure,  we  met  our  friend  in  the  city,  and 
he  gave  us  one  of  the  most  cordial  looks  and  greet- 
ings that  ever  gushed  from  his  benevolent  aspect. 
"Come,"  said  he,  "and  spend  a  week  with  us  at 
Roxbury;  the  children  want  to  see  you."  The 
egotism  of  recording  this  commendation  is  pardona- 


232  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

ble,  we  trust,  as  it  is  necessary  to  the  completion 
of  our  narrative,  and  to  point  an  illustration  with 
the  most  convincing  evidence, — the  desire  to  see 
us  again  and  for  days  together. 

In  closing  our  preface  we  will  just  add,  that  we 
long  to  have  children  led  to  gaze  on,  and  study,  and 
intensely  enjoy,  pure,  sinless  nature,  as  we  did 
when  a  boy,  without  a  guide,  yea,  all  alone,  amid 
the  scattered  farm-spots  and  rocky  and  foliaged 
solitudes  of  romantic  New  Eugland.  O,  that  we 
could  ourselves  be  bodily  present  to  them  ail,  and 
with  finger,  and  eye,  and  tongue,  direct  them  to 
whatever  is  lovely  in  the  less,  magnificent  in  the 
larger,  and  grand  in  the  mightier  scenes  of  our 
multiform  land.  Would  that  we  could  inspire  their 
souls  with  an  enthusiasm  like  that  which  gives 
something  like  a  portion  of  paradise  to  our  own. 
We  trust,  however,  that  soon  there  will  not  be 
wanting  to  most,  alert  scenery-show-ers,  who,  by 
glowing  words,  in  tones  of  love-melody,  and  by 
sweetly  eloquent  looks,  shall  convey  to  their  souls 
these  purest  of  visible  gifts  from  the  Invisible 
Giver. 


IN   WORD-PAINTINGS. 


233 


CHAPTER    II. 

MORNING. 

"  Hail  holy  Light,  offspring  of  Heaven  first  born  !" 

MILTON. 
"  The  morn  is  up  again,  the  dewy  morn, 

With  breath  all  incense  and  with  cheek  all  bloom, 

Laughing  the  clouds  away." 

"  Most  glorious  orb  that  wert  a  worship,  ere' 
The  mystery  of  thy  making  was  revealed  ! 
Thou  earliest  minister  of  the  All-mighty, 
And  representative  of  the  Unknown — 
"Who  chose  thee  for  His  shadow  !" 

BTRON. 

FIRSTBORN  of  the  lovely  in  nature  is  the  light. 
The  most  sweetly,  wirmingly  fair  of  the  day,  is  the 
dawn.  The  most  purely  glorious  of  effulgent  ex- 
hibitions, is  the  full-kindled  morning.  We  place 
their  pictures,  therefore,  near  the  entrance  of  our 
gallery,  as  fittest  to  greet  the  visitor  to  its  series  of 
shows.  At  first,  there  is  but  a  peep  of  light,  like 
the  gleam  of  an  eye,  answering  to  your  own  with 
tender,  cheerful  welcome.  Now  a  wider  flush. 
Anon  the  beaming  spectacle  runs  into  streaky 
length,  like  a  changeable  ribbon,  hemming  the 
horizon.  It  brightens  up  more  broadly,  and  glows 
and  glows,  varying  its  hues  almost  while  you  wink. 
Perhaps  tufts  and  bars,  or  fleecy  curtains  of  cloud, 
20* 


234  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

add  a  garniture  of  bewitching  tinges.  At  length 
the  spacious  East  is  one  vast  court  of  magnificence. 
Central  amid  the  pomp,  the  solar  monarch  rolls  roy- 
ally up  with  his  chariot  of  changeful  flame.  The 
auroral  heralds  and  all  the  rainbow  retinue  gradu- 
ally retire  from  ministration  at  the  presence,  and  the 
Day-King  in  solitary  potency  possesses  his  realm. 
Human  eyes,  dazzled  to  blindness,  must  now  turn 
away  to  pursue  their  duty  by  his  reflected  and 
softer  light. 

In  the  summer,  simultaneous  with  this  spectacle 
of  the  sky,  is  another,  which  sceptres  with  all  their 
power  could  not  command,  or  wealth  with  all  its 
moneys  provide  or  equal  ;  yet,  outspread  for  mil- 
lions to  enjoy,  the  poorest  as  well  as  richest,  will 
they  but  look.  It  is  the  all-bespangling  and  spark- 
ling dews.  They  begin  to  glitter  with  the  first 
glimpses  from  the  orient.  They  awaken  even  with 
the  day-star,  and  gently  acknowledge  its  tender 
beams.  But  as  the  dawn  advances,  how  the  beaded 
prisms  glorify  the  herbage.  Had  we  microscopic 
eyes,  every  drop  would  appear  to  reflect  the  exact 
morning,  with  all  its  changes  on  atmosphere  and 
cloud  :  aurora  beholding  herself  multiplied  to  mil- 
lions, by  millions  of  dewy  mirrors. 

Our  sketches  are  dedicated  to  the  soul  through 
the  eye.  But  accompanying  this  freshest  blazon  of 
lights,  there  is  a  luxury  for  the  ear  with  which  we 
would  enhance  the  allurements  of  the  scene.  It  is 
music  ;  music  such  as  first  from  living  breath  greet- 
ed and  satisfied  man  in  sinless  Eden  ;  the  "  charm 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  235 

of  earliest  bird."  At  the  faintest  appearance  of 
day,  a  few  of  the  heaven-taught  melodists  have 
caught  it  in  their  peering  sight  and  are  stirring 
among  the  branches.  Hark !  like  prompt  choris- 
ters, here  and  there  in  their  leafy  coverts,  they  are 
setting  the  tune  for  the  general  orchestra  of  the 
morning.  A  brief  pause  ;  then  a  great  orison  goes 
up  from  amid  the  yet  twilight-dim  trees,  seemingly 
in 

"  His  praise  who  out  of  darkness  called  up  light." 

Come  out,  then,  thou  into  whose  eyes  not  only, 
but  into  whose  immortal  soul-depths  the  shining 
may  be !  Come  out,  not  only  to  gaze  but  to  listen. 
The  most  ancient  and  the  holiest  visible  temple  is 
re-illumined  and  specially  adorned  for  this  sacrifice. 
Freshness  and  fragrance  float  as  the  incense,  and 
imbue  the  breath  of  life  and  of  vocal  expression. 
On  the  grand  hosanna,  as  a  tuneful  chariot,  fling 
thine  own  grateful  worship,  to  roll  upward  to  Him, 
who  would  have  from  thee  a  melody  of  the  heart, 
harmonious  with  those  angels  whose  kindred  thou 
art,  for  whose  companionship  thou  art  designed,  and 
who, 

"  with  songs 

And  choral  symphonies,  day  without  night 
Circle  His  throne  rejoicing." 


236  SCENERY-SHOWING, 


CHAPTER    III. 

VERDURE. 

"  Gay  Green  ! 

Thou  smiling  Nature's  universal  robe  ! 
United  light  and  shade  !  where  the  sight  dwells 
"With  growing  strength,  and  ever  new  delight." 

THOMSON. 

THE  rich  scenery-seasons  open  after  the  repose 
of  winter  with  the  hue  thus  described.  Of  all  the 
family  of  lights,  it  is  the  eye's  chief  favorite.  It 
holds  the  sense  the  longest  without  weariness  or 
satiety.  It  is  the  wise  fiat  of  nature  that  her  "  uni- 
versal robe  "  should  perpetually  please.  Yet  a 
taste  for  the  enjoyment  of  this  color  might  become 
more  deep  and  intense  than  it  generally  is.  We 
wish  that  we  could  somewhat  present  its  attraction 
to  the  less  cultivated  and  careless  observer  through 
the  medium  of  language.  We  paint  as  it  appears 
to  one  loving  the  verdure  with  a  very  passion. 

The  spring  very  gradually  produces  the  hue, 
sprinkling  it  here  and  there,  as  if  the  uninured  sight 
might  be  oppressed  with  its  own  luxury,  were  there 
suddenly  presented  that  boundless  bounty  at  length 
cast  abroad.  At  first,  perhaps,  a  verdant  line  may 
be  discovered  close  under  the  sunny  side  of  abodes, 
as  if  seeking  domestic  protection  from  the  yet  lin- 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  237 

gering  cold.  The  tender  creature  may  be  found 
also  nestling  in  some  warm  little  hollow,  where 
the  eye  may  leap  in  like  a  fondling  from  the  sur- 
rounding brownness.  That  relic  of  the  winter,  the 
snow-drift,  softening  under  the  subtle  heat,  is  made 
to  distil  into  nutriment  for  this  emerald  child  of  the 
sun,  and  it  embraces  its  dying  nurse  with  its  tender 
contrast  of  beauty.  Now  a  witching  stripe  is 
traced  from  where  the  streamlet  steals  out  from  its 
source,  and 

"  is  faintly  seen, 
A  line  of  silver,  mid  a  fringe  of  green." 

There  are  also  large  mats  of  spreading  verdure  in 
more  sheltered  nooks.  There  are  fields  of  more 
fertile  soil  and  sunnier  aspect,  which  soon  present 
one  broad,  unbroken  expanse  of  the  new  herbage. 
Here  the  vision  can  leap  into  the  clear,  bright 
depths,  and  as  it  were,  swim  along  bathed  and  im- 
bued with  its  best  adapted  and  most  delicious  ele- 
ment. 

In  the  early  spring  and  in  the  later  autumn,  when 
vegetation  was  just  peeping  from  its  root,  or  was 
withering  back  again  to  its  root,  we  have  ourselves 
often  walked  to  a  considerable  distance  to  gaze  on 
the  young  grass  that  thickly  carpeted  a  warm  hill- 
.  side,  exposed  to  the  enriching  drainage  of  buildings 
above.  This  firstling  of  ihe  vegetating  fields,  when 
contrasted  with  the  adjacent  and  dusky  bareness, 
was  a  perfect  fascination,  a  very  elysium  to  the 
sight.  It  is  some  ye  irs  since  we  dwelt  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  this  particular  spectacle,  yet  how  often  has  it 


238  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

spread  its  soft  witchery  to  our  conception.  It  has 
been  a  pastime  to  recollection  amid  the  perplexing 
cares,  indeed  a  very  solace  amid  the  troubles  of 
life. 

But  we  must  hasten  after  the  progressive  season 
and  finish  our  vernal  painting.  The  delicious  .color 
widens  through  the  valleys,  sheets  over  the  hills, 
runs  up  and  enfolds  shrub,  tree,  and  the  whole  of 
the  great  woods,  till  all  is  one  wide  emerald  magnifi- 
cence. The  sight  is  now  satisfied  but  not  cloyed 
with  one  continuous  color.  Indeed  it  finds  a  sort 
of  ecstasy  in  the  vastness  of  its  single-hued  range. 
Let  it  repose  near  by,  or  journey  all  round  and 
afar,  it  is  boundless,  beauteous  green. 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  239 


CHAPTER    IV. 

PICTURES    OF    NATURE    AND    OF    ART. 

"  Beauty — a  living  presence  of  the  earth, 
Surpassing  the  most  fair  ideal  forms 
Which  craft  of  delicate  spirits  hath  composed 
From  earth's  materials — waits  upon  my  steps  ; 
Pitches  her  tents  before  me  as  I  move, 
An  hourly  neighbor— Paradise  and  groves 
Elysian — Fortunate  fields — like  those  of  old, 
Sought  in  the  Atlantic  main — why  should  they  be 
A  history  only  of  departed  things, 
Or  a  mere  fiction  of  what  never  was  ? 
For  the  discerning  intellect  of  man, 
When  wedded  to  this  goodly  universe 
In  love  and  holy  passion,  shall  find  these 
A  simple  produce  of  the  common  day." 

WORDSWOKTH. 

THE  eye  may  be  profitably  trained  to  observation 
by  all  things  visible  whatever.  And  in  many  of 
these,  which  are  generally  unnoticed,  there  may  be 
found  a  scenic  pleasure  worth  securing.  For  the 
sake  of  discipline,  we  would  carefully  notice  any 
little  protuberance  that  knobs,  or  hollow  that  in- 
dents the  land,  and  indeed  any  distinctive  lineament 
or  point  on  the  surface.  All  colors,  with  their  shift- 
ing lights  and  shades,  all  plants,  shrubs  and  rocks, 
however  lowly  and  uninviting  amid  more  imposing 
things,  are  worth  the  scanning,  if  for  nothing  more, 


240  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

at  least  to  gain  in  minuteness  of  attention.  But 
even  where  two  or  three  of  these  are  in  juxtaposi- 
tion, there  is  a  sort  of  picturesqueness  which  may 
afford  an  humble  pleasure  of  appreciable  value  to 
the  studious  eye.  Wherever  we  are,  almost,  we 
may  be  at  our  discipline  and  some  degree  of  enjoy- 
ment. Suppose  we  are  standing  leisurely  at  a 
dwelling  door.  There  is  perhaps  the  stone-paved 
or  pebble-strewn  walk,  running  down  to  the  gate  ; 
or  it  may  be  nothing  but  a  little  path,  foot-worn 
upon  the  turf  or  into  the  unsodded  soil.  There  is 
a  real  picture-like  beauty  in  this,  as  contrasted  with 
the  planted  borders,  or  the  plain  herbage  through 
which  it  passes.  There  is  moreover  the  fence 
around  ;  it  matters  not  if  it  be  a  rough,  broken 
stone  wall,  or  of  rudest  boards  or  bars,  all  askant 
with  age  and  neglect.  Their  odd  shapes,  careless 
positions,  patches  of  moss,  and  old  weather-stains, 
are  worth  looking  at.  Indeed,  when  the  likenesses 
of  these  are  skillfully  portrayed  by  the  pencil,  they 
are  considered  beauties.  Surely  the  accurate  obser- 
vation of  such  substances  will  at  least  prepare  the 
taste  for  the  artist's  imitations. 

We  beg  leave  to  detain  the  reader  a  little  by  a 
few  remarks  about  such  productions  of  art,  together 
with  some  practical  hints  appertaining  to  the  scen- 
ery-shows of  nature. 

What  an  admirable  picture  !  exclaim  the  tasteful, 
contemplating  a  fine  landscape  from  the  artist's 
skill.  Beautiful  !  exclaim  the  less  tasteful,  in  view 
of  coarser  or  the  coarsest  imitation.  How  pretty  ! 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  241 

cries  childhood  over  almost  any  thing  of  the  kind. 
Educated  and  ignorant,  older  and  younger,  find  en- 
joyment in  pictures.  One  reason  probably  is,  that 
the  presentation  of  a  picture  is  occasional,  and  it 
has  somewhat  the  novelty  of  an  incident  about  it, 
and  therefore  seizes  on  the  attention  with  a  sudden 
grasp,  as  things  occasional  and  incidental  generally 
do.  Another  reason  may  be,  that  a  picture  is  a 
little  spectacle  separate  from  every  thing  else.  It 
is  not  amalgamated  with  and  lost  among  innumera- 
ble other  spectacles  of  a  similar  kind.  The  eye 
easily  runs  round  its  limits  and  dwells  on  its  few 
particulars  undisturbed  by  multiplicity.  Besides, 
one  feels  the  wonderfulness  of  imitation  and  resem- 
blance ;  feels,  though  perhaps  not  much  thinks, 
what  a  curious  fact  it  is  that  the  appearance  of  real 
substances  which  stand  up  from  the  ground  and 
can  be  grasped  with  the  hands  and  climbed  upon 
with  the  feet,  may  be  put  on  a  surface  of  unvarying 
flatness,  and  be  made  almost  to  seem  the  very 
things  they  copy. 

Now,  we  believe,  that  with  the  exception  of  the 
circumstances  of  novelty,  resemblance  and  admired 
skill,  all  the  pleasure  found  in  a  picture  may  be 
afforded  by  original  nature.  All  creation  presented 
to  the  eye  is  but  a  vast  painting,  a  spectacle  of 
colors  with  lights  and  shades.  Let  the  illumina- 
tions from  the  heavens  be  shut  out  by  night  and 
clouds,  and  no  artificial  ones  of  earth  be  instead, 
and  the  whole  vanishes,  never  more  to  exist,  unless- 
these  illuminators  again  lend  their  aid.  It  is  the 
21 


242  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

experienced  consciousness  of  substantial  matter, 
having  definite  size,  shape,  and  other  qualities,  and 
also  of  the  different  distances  of  objects,  together 
with  the  multiplicity  and  universality  of  colors, 
that  prevents  the  mind  from  the  truth  that  all  is 
but  color  that  the  eye  beholds,  to  be  gone  in  a 
moment,  bereft  of  this. 

The  commonness  of  the  spectacle,  moreover,  de- 
prives it  of  interest ;  but  if  the  eye  does  pause  to 
observe,  it  is  often  confused  and  bewildered  in  the 
complexity  and  variousness,  unless  it  be  disciplined 
to  particular  inspection.  Again  and  again,  therefore, 
we  commend  any  aspect  of  nature,  any  little  por- 
tion of  earth,  with  its  few  objects  above,  to  studious 
observation.  Roll  up  the  hand  and  look  through 
at  the  space  thus  separated  from  other  things,  and 
the  attention  will  be  thus  concentrated  and  dis- 
tinctness acquired,  as  in  a  gallery  of  paintings  by 
the  little  lubes  there  provided  for  visitors. 

Gaze,  gaze,  discipline  the  perceptions,  and  with  a 
constantly  growing  pleasure  shall  be  verified  the 
poet's  encouraging  thought,  that  things  beautiful 
are 

"  A  simple  produce  of  the  common  day." 


IN     WORD-PAINTINGS.  243 


CHAPTER    V. 

SWIMMING    FIELDS — DISTANT    FENCE-LINES — OPEN    ROADS 
— WAYS    THROUGH    WOODS. 

"  A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever ; 
Its  loveliness  increases ;  it  will  never 
Pass  into  nothingness,  but  still  will  keep 
A  bower  quiet  for  us,  and  a  sleep 

Full  of  sweet  dreams,  and  health,  and  quiet  breathing  ; 
Therefore,  on  every  morn  are  we  wreathing 
A  flowery  band  to  bind  us  to  the  earth." 

KEATS. 

WE  now  present  a  few  more  ordinary  appear- 
ances, not  without  scenic  interest  if  but  observed 
with  the  spirit  felt  by  the  bard,  or  which  by  cul- 
ture may  spring  up  in  almost  any  one  not  a  bard. 

Most  have  noticed  how  a  day  or  two  of  rain, 
such  as  we  sometimes  have  in  summer,  will  drench 
and  saturate  the  fields  with  wetness,  so  that  the 
herbage,  while  it  freshens  to  a  livelier  green,  seems 
as  it  were  to  be  buoyed  up  by  the  liquid  element 
that  fills  it.  After  a  parching  drought,  how  the 
thirsty  eye  drinks  and  luxuriates  in  such  a  specta- 
cle. Rainy-day  idleness  might  here  snatch  at  least 
a  sip  of  pleasure  ;  and  the  tasteful  traveler  would 
somewhat  forget  the  drizzling  clouds  in  such  a 
refreshment  of  vision. 


244  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

The  straight  stone  wall  dividing  green  fields  is  a 
pleasant  object  to  look  at,  especially  if  the  rough- 
ness be  lost  in  the  distance  and  the  fence  appear  as 
a  dark  smooth  line  marking  the  verdure.  In  the 
many  positions  of  fences  relative  to  each  other  and 
to  the  grassy  level,  the  standing  grain,  the  rounding 
hill,  or  the  tall  ^wood,  there  are  various  interesting 
aspects,  which  to  the  uninitiated  need  to  be  pointed 
out  with  the  finger  as  well  as  described  in  lan- 
guage. 

There  is  a  picturesque  beauty  in  a  simple  road, 
with  a  strip  of  herbage  for  a  border  and  a  grey  wall 
for  rim,  then  on  either  side,  the  expanses  of  field  or 
pasture  verdure  between  which  it  runs.  We  have 
many  a  time  stopped  and  gazed  with  a  very  desirable 
pleasure,  at  a  little  fragment  of  road  thus  circum- 
stanced, rising  white  out  of  a  valley  and  curving 
over  a  hill  and  then  again  lost.  Indeed  the  richest 
picture  in  the  gallery  of  art  would  not  tempt  us  to 
exchange  for  its  possession  the  capacity  of  enjoy- 
ing the  scenic  beauty  of  a  dusty  highway,  only 
let  it  be  far  enough  off  to  give  its  best  display,  and 
nothing  of  its  dust. 

A  word  more  about  roads.  Take  one  stretching 
straight  and  far  through  a  wood.  As  it  runs  on 
and  on,  its  vista  of  whitish  bottom,  verdant  walls 
and  skyey  roof,  seem  to  narrow  and  narrow  toward 
a  point,  the  perspective  in  the  distance  diminishing 
to  miniature  like  a  picture. 

There  is  also  the  winding  path  through  the 
woods.  You  turn  this  way  and  that,  and  perhaps 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  245 

undulate  up  and  down.  New  objects  burst  contin- 
ually on  the  view,  and  the  eye  must  be  busy  to 
catch  them.  You  wonder  all  the  while  what  will 
come  next,  and  where  you  shall  come  out,  like  as 
in  the  fortunes  of  a  romance.  Then  when  you  at 
length  emerge,  the  brighter  light  and  the  broad, 
clear  lands  seem  like  the  happy  conclusion  of  an 
uncertain  story.  By  a  cultivated  relish  for  appear- 
ances of  this  sort,  how  might  we  lighten  the 
tediousness  of  travel.  How,  catching  words  already 
quoted  from  the  poet,  we  should  find  beauty  wait- 
ing on  our  steps  and  pitching  her  tents  before  us  as 
we  move,  an  hourly  neighbor. 


246  SCENERY-SHOWING, 


CHAPTER    VI. 

A    DOMICILIARY    SPECTACLE. 

"  Me,  oft  has  fancy,  ludicrous  and  wild, 
Soothed  with  a  waking  dream  of  houses,  towers, 
Trees,  churches  and  strange  visages,  expressed 
In  the  red  cinders,  while  with  poring  eye 
I  gazed,  myself  creating  what  I  saw." 

COWPER. 

WE  have  a  poet's  warrant  for  the  first  scene  of 
this  chapter ;  and  if  the  reader  has  perused  the  ob- 
servant and  graphic  Cowper,  the  rest  will  not  be 
without  interest,  although  the  dear  old  bard  has  not 
painted  it  on  his  page.  He  loved  almost  every  pos- 
sible show  in  nature,  and  he  who  has  caught  the 
spirit  of  his  muse  will  require  of  us  no  further 
apology.  Twilight,  and  at  the  fireside  ;  no  lamp, 
no  book,  no  work ;  need  the  space  be  lacking  of 
interest  to  the  solitary  sitter  ?  Let  him  watch  the 
glow  of  the  intensely  ignited  coals  and  realize  the 
soothing  waking  dream. 

As  the  fire  works  round  and  through  the  fuel, 
how  the  eye,  aided  a  little  by  fancy,  perceives  all 
sorts  of  fairy  shows,  a  miniature  theatre  of  shifting 
scenery.  But  the  portraiture  of  our  quotation  suf- 
fices for  this ;  so  we  pass  to  another. 

Suppose  it  bright  day  time,  when  hue  and  motion 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  247 

are  more  distinctly  visible,  there  is  the  smoke,  that 
accompaniment  of  flame,  not  particularly  desirable 
for  comfort  or  cookery,  yet  it  is  not  undesirable 
as  a  spectacle  of  color,  form  and  motion,  to  a  child 
or  anybody  else.  How  mysteriously  copious  the 
vapor  steals  out  from  the  apparently  solid  substance, 
of  a  whitish  blue,  from  a  green  stick,  curling  and 
mingling  with  the  darker  blue  of  the  drier.  With 
what  grace  it  turns,  and  twists,  and  bulges  out  its 
fleece  after  fleece,  and  then  unrolls  and  shoots  more 
straightly  up  through  the  flue. 

There  is  another  smoke-scene  from  the  chimney- 
top  worth  beholding.  Take  a  still  autumnal  morn- 
ing, with  what  stateliness  the  creature  rises  into  a 
tall  perpendicular  column,  as  if  it  stood  compact 
like  a  tree,  yet  every  particle  is  in  motion  ;  then 
there  is  the  spreading  out  and  folding  over  at  the 
summit  like  a  canopy,  sometimes  the  whole  diver- 
sified with  noticeable  varieties  of  color  in  the  sun- 
light. How  often,  when  but  a  child,  have  we 
watched  this  ordinary  exhibition.  The  eye  would 
be  caught  by  the  wreathy  wile,  and  be  borne  up 
and  up  till  released  by  the  unrolling  of  its  fairy-like 
vehicle,  when  it.would  return  down  and  be  furled 
and  wafted  up  again ;  then  perhaps  it  would  scud 
away  and  sport  along  a  bank  of  the  blue  vapor 
piled  in  the  lower  air.  No  possible  genius  of  the 
pencil  could  create  that  combined  witchery  of  form, 
color  and  movement,  on  the  canvass  ;  yet  it  soars 
above  the  poor  man's  house  as  well  as  the  rich 
man's,  and  might  equallly  amuse  the  children  of 


248  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

both,  and  be  a  sweetly  remembered  pastime  of 
early  years,  and  withal  be  pleasantly  renewed  to  a 
scenic  taste  ever  afterward  in  life. 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  249 


CHAPTER    VII. 

ROCKS    AND    CLIFFS. 

"Stop,  stop!   Let  that  rock  alone."     *    *    *     "It  is   a  little 
feature  on  the  landscape's  face  which  gives  it  expression." 

WORDSWORTH. 

ROCKS  are  striking  features  of  landscape,  particu- 
larly in  New  England,  yet  how  little  are  they 
thought  of,  except  by  a  few,  in  respect  to  the  in- 
terest of  scenery.  By  the  grown-up  they  are 
mostly  regarded  as  useful  materials  for  walls,  or  as 
incumbrances  and  impediments,  wished  out  of  the 
way  ;  to  children,  they  are  play's  ambition-pinnacles, 
on  which  to  climb  high  and  stand  up  tall,  or  from 
which  to  leap  boldly  down  in  the  friskiness  of 
animal  spirits,  as  the  lambs  do  in  the  pastures. 
True,  rocks  are  an  impediment  to  tillage,  and  let 
them  be  got  out  of  the  way.  They  are  good  for 
fences,  and  let  fences  be  made  of  them,  but  this  is 
no  reason  why  their  picturesqueness,  their  beauty 
and  grandeur,  should  not  be  observed  and  enjoyed. 
I  know  some  rocks  that  are  much  in  the  way,  and 
it  might  cost  a  month,  take  a  life  through,  for  the 
shoes  and  wheels  of  business  to  go  round  them, 
and  if  split  up  would  underpin  a  meeting-house  or 


250  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

a  market,  yet  we  would  not  remove  them  any  more 
than  we  would  pull  a  star  from  the  sky,  on 
account  of  their  perpetual  blessing  to  the  eye  of 
taste. 

Now  let  the  perception  be  trained  to  enjoy  these 
prominences  of  the  ground.  For  this  purpose  any 
rock  of  the  nearest  field  may  afford  the  primary 
lesson.  Let  the  different  and  peculiar  dimensions, 
shapes  and  colors,  be  noticed.  There  are  the  little 
picturings  of  moss,  the  stripe  caused  by  some  di- 
versity of  the  original  elements,  or  the  fissure 
which,  though  small,  allures  the  eye  by  a  sort  of 
mystery  in  its  depth  and  shadow.  These  trifling 
circumstances  might  be  made  interesting  at  least  to 
the  child  whose  taste  for  things  of  the  kind  has  not 
been  crushed  and  annihilated  by  the  great  and  the 
grand  of  broader  experience.  A  minute  observation 
of  these  insignificant  peculiarities  will  discipline  the 
perceptions  to  be  minutely  observant  when  going 
out  into  wide  and  multiplex  nature,  where,  other- 
wise, attention  might  be  confounded  and  lost  in  a 
roving,  bewildered  gaze.  Besides,  we  apprehend 
that  an  observer  thus  disciplined  would  be  more 
likely  to  entertain  the  feeling  of  sublimity  and 
wondering  romance,  at  the  subsequent  spectacle  of 
mighty  gorges,  crags  and  pinnacles,  so  vastly  ex- 
ceeding the  diminutive  things  to  which  interest 
had  previously  been  limited. 

We  would  form  a  sort  of  friendly  interest  in 
rocks ;  let  the  heart  grow  to  them,  as  it  were,  in 
consequence  of  pleasant  remembrances.  An  anec- 


IN     WORD-PAINTINGS.  251 

dote  will  somewhat  illustrate  our  meaning.  A 
friend  informed  us  that  when  in  Europe,  he  visited 
the  celebrated  Wordsworth.  The  poet  took  him 
round  his  grounds,  showing  him  the  points  of  en- 
gaging scenery  with  poetic  rapture  and  patriotic 
pride.  While  walking  in  the  garden,  some  laborers 
there,  were  about  prying  up,  for  removal,  a  rock  in 
a  grassy  corner — an  ordinary  rock,  which  stuck  out 
from  its  bed  with  a  perpendicular  and  grey  mossy 
face.  "  Stop,  stop,"  cried  the  owner,  "  let  that  rock 
alone."  He  then  remarked  to  our  friend — "I  would 
not  have  that  rock  removed  on  any  account.  In- 
significant as  it  may  appear,  it  signifies  something 
to  me  ;  rny  eye  has  glanced  at  it  and  gazed  on  it 
for  years  ;  it  is  a  little  feature  on  the  landscape's 
face  \vhich  gives  it  expression.  It  shall  now  have 
an  appropriate  inscription  on  its  little  grey  weather- 
side,  and  I  will  write  a  sonnet  to  it."  The  patriotic 
poet  spoke  with  a  fervor  about  that  old  rock,  which 
surprised  the  American. 

Now  the  poet's  rock  was  dear  to  his  heart,  simply 
from  long  familiarity.  To  this  kind  of  interest  we 
would  join  that  of  peculiar  associations.  On  a 
first  visit  to  a  rock,  read  passages  from  some  favorite 
book,  peruse  perhaps  the  last  new  work  of  pure- 
minded  genius,  or  be  accompanied  by  an  agreeable 
friend  for  the  sweet  of  mutual  converse  or  song  and 
sympathy  of  taste.  In  this  way  how  will  memory 
be  starred,  as  it  were,  with  softly  gleaming  points 
to  which  the  soul  shall  in  the  future  turn  back  and 
find  solace  from  the  darkness  of  trouble,  or  the 
chilly  and  stumbling  night  of  extreme  age. 


252  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

One  of  the  most  interesting  fragments  of  scenery 
the  eye  scans  and  perches  on,  are  the  cliffs  in  our 
hill-sides.  Many  a  home  in  our  diversified  country 
is  not  without  one  or  more  of  these  in  vicinity. 
Perhaps  they  are  set  smoothly  and  perpendicularly 
into  the  earthy  framework,  like  a  piece  of  ham- 
mered masonry,  and  clad  with  green  and  gray 
moss,  as  with  fanciful  tapestry.  Or  they  project 
roughly  and  beetle  over,  impressing  the  feeling  of 
grandeur.  Perhaps  shrubs  shoot  out  from  crevices, 
or  bristle  at  the  top  in -fantastic  wildness,  or  trees 
tower  therefrom  in  waving  pride  at  their  pre-emi- 
nence. Sometimes  the  rock-show  is  of  quite  a 
clear  whiteness,  or  has  spots  or  stripes  of  chalky 
brilliancy,  charmingly  contrasting  with  the  grassy 
carpet  beneath  and  pendant  foliage  above.  Now 
let  observation  be  particularly  directed  to  such 
noble  features  of  the  landscape.  Let  us  grow  ro- 
mantic about  them — it  will  do  no  harm.  If  some 
interesting  incident  of  the  past  may  be  found  con- 
nected with  them,  or  with  any  other  spot  of  earth, 
so  much  the  better.  We  cannot  but  repeat  that  on  a 
pleasure-seeking  jaunt  to  such  spectacles,  a  choice 
of  company  is  truly  worth  the  seeking.  One  or 
two  individuals  of  tender  and  touching  conversa- 
tion, or  the  gift  of  sweetening  song,  are  far  prefer- 
able to  noisy,  gamboling  numbers.  Let  all  the 
feelings  be  spiritual  and  quiet,  rather  than  animal 
and  frolicsome,  especially  on  a  first  visit.  Thus 
you  will  open  in  the  soul  a  little  fountain  of  sweet 
and  tender  recollections,  which  shall  be  perennial, 


IN     WORD-PAINTINGS.  253 

and  sprinkle   its  freshness  at  length,  it  may  be,  on/ 
withering  age. 

Indeed,  we  would  have  all  sorts  of  pleasing 
scenery  connected  in  the  mind  with  the  most 
agreeable  remembrances,  but  most -especially,  the 
scenery  around  dear  native  home.  We  would 
labor  sedulously  to  make  the  grounds  there  a  sort  of 
Eden-place  to  the  affections.  Then  in  after  life, 
when  parents  shall  be  laid  in  the  dust,  and  brothers 
and  sisters  scattered  widely  away,  what  a  paradise 
of  heart-hallowed  beauty,  will  this  native  land- 
scape be ! 


22 


254  SCENERY-SHOWING, 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

HILLS    AND    VALES. 

"The  Hills  of  New  England 

How  nobly  they  rise, 
In  beauty  or  wildness 

To  blend  with  the  skies  ! 
Their  green  slopes,  their  grey  rocks, 

Then-  plumage  of  trees, 
New  England,  my  country, 

I  love  thee  for  these ! 

"  The  Vales  of  New  England 

That  cradle  her  streams  ; 

All  greenness  and  glimmer, 

Like  landscapes  in  dreams  ; 
Their  rich  laps  for  labor, 
Their  bosoms  for  ease, 
New  England,  my  country, 
I  love  thee  for  these  1 " 

OLD  SCRAP  BOOK. 

THE  Hills  and  Vales  !  the  very  words  have  a 
charm,  embalmed  as  they  are  in  the  sweet  essence 
of  rural  poetry  shed  all  along  the  course  of  time. 
How  infinitely  diversified  their  appearances  ;  count- 
less, countless  shapes,  as  if  the  fingers  of  Nature 
had  played  over  her  continents  in  sportive  inven- 
tion, configuring  the  surface.  There  are  broad 
heaving  swells  with  conforming  platters  of  [land  be- 
tween ;  long  ridges  lifting  more  suddenly,  alterna- 


IN   WORD-PAINTINGS.  255 

ting  with  long  gouges  below  ;  arid  the  more  precip- 
itous heights  of  all  sorts  of  figures,  looking  down 
into  dells  of  novelty  equally  diverse.  The  pro- 
fessed scenery-seer  we  need  not  advise,  but  to  those 
who  would  seek  his  rare  pleasure,  we  would  say, 
carefully  contemplate  all  their  varieties  of  aspect ; 
con  them  like  a  lesson  in  a  book.  It  is  remarkable 
how  the  organ  of  form  will  strengthen  and  sharpen 
to  its  office.  It  will  come  to  detect  each  one  of  all 
the  multiplicity  of  outlines.  Figure  is  its  sole 
subject  and  enjoyment,  and  it  will  feast  on  the 
beauty  of  curves,  with  the  relish  of  angles.  There 
are  sizes,  distances  and  relative  positions,  for  the 
note  of  other  faculties,  giving  to  each  appropriate 
gratification. 

There  is  another  study  in  close  connection,  it  is 
the  conforming  sky.  From  some  nether  stand 
among  many  hills,  gaze  this  way  and  that,  over 
and  around,  and  how  the  azure  dome  is  bordered  at 
the  base  with  jagged  cuts,  angled  notches,  quick- 
heaving  arches,  or  long  narrow  scoops,  according 
as  the  earth  configures  its  own  contour.  Some  re- 
lations of  the  land  to  the  horizon,  present  most  ex- 
quisite specimens  of  the  picturesque.  From  one 
extremity  of  a  long  deep  valley,  peer  away  through 
to  the  other.  A  portion  of  the  heaven  is  close 
down  in  there,  like  a  sapphire  wall,  and  it  seems  as 
if  you  might  go  and  place  your  hand  against  it,  or 
look  through  the  crystal  azure  into  mysteries  be- 
yond. 

Color  will  of  course  mingle  with  and  array  the. 


256  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

charms  of  form  and  proportion,  but  as  we  treat  of 
it  otherwhere,  we  omit  it  in  this  connection.  As 
this  outline  of  the  hills  and  vales  meets  the  eye  of 
the  reader,  his  fancy  will  naturally  clothe  them  in 
all  their  necessary  variety  of  hues. 

We  spoke  of  the  growth  and  pleasure  of  the 
mere  perceptive  faculties  amid  such  interesting  pre- 
sentments of  their  specific  objects.  But  there  is 
above,  and  reigning  over  these,  another  power,  to 
which  these  are  the  handmaids.  Ideality,  or  the 
intense  feeling  of  the  beautiful,  and  the  exulting 
glow  at  its  possession.  How  does  it  open  and 
open,  amid  such  scenes,  for  streams  of  beauty  to 
glide  in,  as  from  many  fountains  tended  by  its  ser- 
vitors at  the  eye.  But  over  all  these  there  is  an- 
other sentiment,  Religion,  to  which  Ideality  in  duty 
should  minister,  sending  up  its  joys  thereto,  beauti- 
fying holiness.  He  who  worships  not  from  this 
fane  of  hill  and  vale,  receives  not  their  charm  into 
his  highest,  happiest  sense,  and  he  knows  not  what 
influence  descends  from  the  Worshiped  and  All- 
beautiful,  to  invest  and  sanctify  the  scene  with  a 
still  richer  loveliness. 

We  would  now  call  attention  to  a  few  particular 
localities.  There  is  a  peculiar  beauty  about  some 
of  the  hills  of  New  England,  which  we  fear  are  by 
many  of  its  inhabitants  hardly  noticed.  We  refer 
to  their  oval  forms.  How  gracefully  they  round  up 
and  curve  into  the  sky.  There  are  a  hundred,  or 
indeed  a  thousand  eminences  of  this  shape,  in  the 
neighborhoods  of  the  Monadnock  and  Wachusett 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  257 

Mountains.  We  will  try  to  paint  a  scene  embracing 
the  latter.  The  Wachusett  at  twilight,  and  at  other 
times  in  certain  states  of  weather,  is  a  very  queen 
of  mountain  beauty,  rearing  its  round,  dark-blue 
summit  against  the  peculiar  sky.  As  the  traveler 
crinkles  among  the  hills  below,  it  exhibits  various 
charming  aspects,  and  indeed  seems  alive  and  in 
motion,  dancing  as  it  were,  to  exhibit  its  graces. 
There  is  one  playful  illusion  with  which  we  have 
been  often  amused  when  in  that  part  of  the  country. 
In  ascending  a  hill  in  an  angular  direction,  we 
would  catch  a  first  glimpse  of  the  mountain,  just  a 
blue  rim  projecting  beyond  the  green  of  the  inter- 
vening hill.  Rising  higher  the  rim  would  broaden, 
or  rather  the  body  of  the  round  mountain  would 
seem  to  roll  out  more  and  more  into  sight ;  the  hill 
apparently  wheeling  one  way  and  the  mountain  an- 
other, as  if  turning  on  an  axis  like  machinery,  by 
some  invisible  agency.  It  seemed  to  fancy  that 
earth  below  were  mimicking  the  dance  of  the 
spheres  above,  with  a  soft  music  unheard  by  mortal 
ears.  Would  not  childhood,  would  not  any  one 
find  recreation  in  this  spectacle,  enjoying  and  sym- 
pathizing with  the  sportiveness  of  Nature. 

We  never  travel  the  old  winding  roads  in  the 
vicinity  of  Boston,  without  the  ever-renewed  plea- 
sure of  gazing  upon  the  oval  hills.  We  owe  a 
tribute  to  these  and  all  the  scenery  around.  It  has 
been  our  study  and  enchantment  for  years. 

What  valleys  too,  what  water  sheets !  What 
diverse  sprinkles  and  clusters  and  lines  of  architec- 
22* 


258  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

ture,  peeping  from  amid  gardens  or  gleaming  under 
tree-rows !  Altogether,  it  is  a  show  that  the  arid 
South,  and  even  the  magnificent  West,  might  come 
over,  just  to  see.  It  is  the  very  poetry  of  land- 
scape, and  in  spite  of  us  its  spirit  and  imagery  will, 
•but  O  how  faintly,  run  verse-like  along  our  page. 

Kind  City  !     Can  thy  traveled  son  tell  where 

Lie  .sweeter  scenes  than  thy  environs  are  ? 

Does  e'er  his  soul  so  leap  from  self  away 

As  when  they  greet  him  homeward  from  thy  bay  ? 

The  oval  hills,  the  wandering  vales  between, 

Groves,  cliffs  and  ways,  with  glimpse  of  watery  sheen, 

And  culture's  carpet,  rich  as  wealth  can  weave, 

Tinged  with  all  dyes  that  shower  and  sun-beam  leave ; 

Elysian  landscapes  round  thy  thousands  flung, 

Which,  Albion  owning,  Genius  would  have  sung. 

Let  Fashion  forth  then,  Toil  full  oft  depart 

To  study  these,  yea,  get  them  all  by  heart. 

'Tis  Nature's  Athen&um,  full  and  free, 

Its  Avails  the  hills,  the  meeting  sky  and  sea. 

At  morn  the  Zephyr,  Ocean  breeze  at  even, 

Brush  o'er  and  air  these  pencilings  of  Heaven. 

Should  seraph  Beauty  beckon  them  to  roam, 

God's  stronger  servant,  Health,  shall  bear  them  home. 

Remembrance  copies ;  Taste,  for  aye,  shall  find 

Those  distant  scenes  hung  round  the  halls  of  mind. 

Send  forth  thy  poor,  of  charities  thou  Queen  ! 

And  grace  their  souls  as  they  have  never  been. 

Thy  teachers  with  them — learned  of  their  Lord, 

To  show  in  nature  lines  of  sacred  Word. 

Command  thy  merchant  princes,  large  to  give, 

That  lowly  life  may  really  come  to  live, 

O,  not  "by  bread  alone,"  want's  wrested  good, 

But  all  the  spirit's  growth  can  ask  for  food  ; 

Live  in  all  beauty,  eye  or  thought  can  find ; 

Live  conscious  man,  mid  lordliest  mankind ; 

But  more  than  all,  live  in  sweet,  grateful  love 

To  those  who  lifted  them,  themselves  above ; 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  259 

To  Him,  who  clad  and  sent  with  golden  wing 
Men,  angel- like,  "these  little  ones"  to  bring, 
And  fold  them  in  their  pinions  at  His  feet, 
Where  rich  and  poor  should  all  together  meet. 
Do  thus,  dear  City — noblest  of  the  North — 
Of  all  the  land,  e'en  now,  for  life's  best  worth  ! 
Do  thus,  and  then,  thy  populous  robe  all  white, 
With  virtues  gemmed,  God's  glory  for  the  light, 
Thy  presence  o'er  a  continent  shall  shine, 
Yea,  charm  the  poor,  proud  South  to  seek  thy  shrine, 
In  wisdom's  meekness  then  to  haste  away, 
To  raise  her  darkened  realms  to  brighter  day ; 
Convinced  of  equal  freedom's  worth — the  good 
Of  other  chains — soft  links  of  brotherhood — 
Of  wealth  from  toil  at  thought ;  of  whipless  awe, 
Enrobed  in  love,  but  throned  upon  the  law. 
Erst  Queen  of  Learning !  take  a  loftier  name, 
The  Era  calls  with  its  new  tongue  of  flame ; 
A  country's  Prophet — lift  thy  baptized  brow, 
Thy  mission  prove,  and  do  the  mighty — NOW  ! 


260  SCENERY-SHOWING, 


CHAPTER    IX. 

TREES. 

"  Bravely  thy  old  arms  fling 
Their  countless  pennons  to  the  fields  of  air, 

And  like  a  sylvan  king 
Their  panoply  of  green  still  proudly  wear.  , 

When  at  the  twilight  hour 
Plays  through  the  tressil  crown  the  sun's  last  gleam, 

Under  thy  ancient  bower 
The  school-boy  comes  to  sport,  the  bard  to  dream." 

H.    T.   TUCKERMAN. 

WE  now  pay  admiring  regard  to  the  lofty  mon- 
archs  of  the  vegetable  realm.  Indeed  they  not  only 
reign  over  the  humble  herbage  and  bush  at  their 
feet,  but  they  hold  a  sort  of  lordship  over  the  whole 
scenic  earth.  They  stand  above  the  water,  shelter- 
ing its  repose,  or  hold  it  in  review  as  with  purling 
music  it  moves  on  its  train.  They  protect  the 
meadows ;  they  hold  court  in  the  valleys ;  they 
display  upon  the  hills ;  they  throne  themselves  on 
the  mountains ;  and  look  down  on  the  subject 
lands.  We  have  spoken  indeed  poetically,  yet 
without  a  figure  we  can  almost  say  that  we  our- 
selves do  a  real  homage  to  the  trees. 

But  we  must  portray  them  more  particularly  as 
they  appear  in  their  princely  bearing  and  attire. 
Each  species  has  characteristic  traits  of  appearance, 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  261 

and  if  we  may  so  speak,  costume,  features,  and 
complexion  of  its  own.  What  gracefulness  of  the 
locust  and  willow  ;  what  column-like  symmetry 
and  stateliness  of  the  maple ;  what  nobleness  of  the 
strong  armed  oak  ;  what  arching  grandeur  of  the 
elm  ;  then  what  varied  magnificence  of  the  great 
continuous  forest. 

How  many  different  hues  the  practiced  eye  may 
detect  in  the  common  mantle  of  verdure.  Here  is 
the  deep  evergreen,  fir  or  hemlock,  set  in  among 
the  beech,  maple,  or  birch,  or  among  several  of  the 
kinds  together.  How  tastefully  the  darker  and  the 
lighter  greens  internotch,  rapturing  the  eye  with 
their  thickly  intermingling,  yet  clearly  contrasted 
hues.  Take  your  stand  on  a  height,  and  gaze  down 
into  some  bosomed  valley,  thickly  studded  with 
trees  ;  maples  for  instance.  Each  one  rounds  up 
its  top  with  a  separate  swell.  The  eye  is  allured  ; 
and  leaping  down,  it  swims  as  it  were  in  a  sea  of 
verdurous  billows. 

Another  appearance  of  a  wood  is  the  shade  it 
casts  upon  a  bordering  field  or  pasture,  richly  deep- 
ening its  green.  Stand  outside,  in  the  clear  open 
light,  and  gaze  upon  the  darksomeness  that  lies 
away  under  the  umbrageous  arches,  and  you  might 
fancy  a  body  of  night  left  there  to  slumber,  guarded 
by  a  file  of  out-skirting  trees  to  protect  from  the 
incursions  of  the  surrounding  day. 

A  pleasant  spectacle  in  the  country  is  the  fruit 
orchard,  with  its  carpet  of  herbage  beneath.  At 
least  we  know  of  one  who  in  very  childhood  gazed 


262  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

with  ever  fresh  delight  on  so  ordinary  a  scene. 
There  were  the  rows  of  apple  trees,  with  branches' 
so  long,  and  foliage  so  thick,  as  to  cast  the  inter- 
vening grass  almost  entirely  into  shade.  The  eye 
from  the  house-window  would  run  along  from  this 
end  to  that,  of  one  of  the  vistas,  and  back  again  ; 
then  rest  upon  the  leaf-shadowed  verdure,  anon 
start  to  and  fro  again,  as  if  at  a  sort  of  gambol  with 
its  favorite  hue. 

It  may  be  that  the  reader  will  not  sympathize 
with  us  in  the  pleasure  afforded  by  these  common 
aspects  of  nature.  If  so,  we  would  inquire  if  they 
would  not  please  even  him,  when  laid  in  accurate 
picture  by  a  genius  of  the  pencil  ?  Why  then  shall 
the  Infinite  Artist  paint  his  perfect  originals  and  the 
eye  not  see,  the  taste  not  admire  ? 

But  we  have  one  more  instance  of  tree-scenery 
which  cannot  but  attract  the  dullest  vision,  the 
tamest  taste,  when  once  made  known.  We  have 
never  seen  it  mentioned  in  print,  or  scarcely  alluded 
to  in  conversation,  and  yet  it  is  a  spectacle  as  fasci- 
nating as  imagination  herself  could  invent  or 
desire. 

We  refer  to  the  peculiar  aspect  of  the  tree,  stand- 
ing between  the  eye  and  the  morning,  or  more 
especially  the  evening  twilight.  Withdraw  all  con- 
sciousness from  other  objects,  and  fasten  the  gaze 
intently  on  the  tree  displayed  against  the  golden, 
the  purple,  or  the  crimson  of  the  sky.  Mark  how 
distinctly  you  perceive  the  trunk,  and  every  bough, 
branch,  twig  and  leaf — a  perfect  pencil-drawing 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  263 

seemingly  upon  the  glowing,  changing  canvass  of 
evening.  Or  let  the  fancy  take  another  turn.  The 
object,  particularly  as  the  twilight  fades,  has  a  sort 
of  semi-spiritual  or  spectre-like  appearance,  as  if 
Nature  were  at  a  pantomime  of  arboreous  appari- 
tions for  the  entertainment  of  Romance  at  her  most 
favorite  hour.  We  deem  ourselves  peculiarly  fortu- 
nate, when  in  an  evening  walk  we  can  find  a  row 
of  locusts,  elms,  or  maples,  or  any  kind  or  arrange- 
ment of  trees,  to  disport  the  eye  and  fancy  with, 
without  hindering  the  needed  exercise.  There  are 
few  spectacles  that  keep  us  away  from  the  topics 
of  the  study,  arid  relieve  the  thought-worn  brain 
more  effectually,  than  this  daily  renewing  illusion 
of  the  twilight. 


264  SCENERY-SHOWING, 


CHAPTER    X. 

COLORS    OF    VEGETATION. 

"  Resplendent  hues  are  thine ! 

Triumphant  beauty — glorious  as  brief ! 
Burdening  with  holy  love  the  heart's  pure  shrine, 

Till  tears  afford  relief. 
When  my  last  hours  are  come, 

Great  God  !  ere  yet  life's  span  shall  all  be  filled, 
And  these  warm  lips  in  death  be  ever  dumb, 

This  beating  heart  be  stilled, 
Bathe  Thou  in  hues  as  blessed — 

Let  gleams  of  heaven  about  my  spirit  play ! 
So  shall  my  soul  to  its  eternal  rest 

In  glory  pass  away  !  " 

WM.  J.  PABODIE. 

WHY  has  the  Creator  painted  our  world  with 
such  infinite  diversity,  why  so  exquisitely  spun  the 
nerves  of  perception,  if  the  one  was  not  intended 
to  run  along  the  other  with  an  infinite  diversity  of 
visual  pleasure  to  the  soul? 

We  apprehend  that  immeasurably  more  might  be 
enjoyed  from  the  changing  colors  of  vegetative 
nature,  were  there  due  discipline.  Let  us  briefly 
present  a  few  lessons  for  practice. 

How  many  distinct  hues  of  verdure  in  vernal 
vegetation.  What  numerous  tints  of  the  same 
color  not  only,  but  numberless  different  dyes,  the 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  265 

various  species  of  vegetables  assume,  in  all  their 
changes  from  their  first  tender  green  of  spring  to 
the  last  prevailing  brownness  of  autumn.  Now 
let  children  be  trained,  let  others  train  themselves, 
curiously  to  observe  all  these  variegations  from  the 
shifting  year.  Discriminate  each  separate  kind  of 
grain  by  its  hue.  Notice  also  the  alternations  as 
the  crop  advances  toward  the  harvest.  Had  we 
space,  we  might  point  out  noticeable  traits  in  each 
species.  As  a  single  illustration,  embracing  form  as 
well  as  color,  does  one  to  a  thousand  observe  the  pe- 
culiar early  beauty  and  later  magnificence  of  that 
common  spectacle,  a  field  of  Indian  corn?  There 
are  the  leaves  at  their  broadest  expansion  toward 
the  stalk,  tapering  off  to  their  utmost  elongation ; 
and  these  all  waving  and  fluttering  in  the  breeze 
like  so  many  verdant  and  pointed  streamers.  Then 
it  lifts  its  tasseled  stateliness,  as  if  in  plumy  pride  at 
the  golden  riches  beneath. 

There  are  the  fields  of  the  smaller  grains.  How 
graceful  the  nodding  in  the  gentle  breeze,  in  color, 
form  and  motion,  minutely,  multitudinously  pictur- 
esque. While  yet  retaining  their  greenness,  and  in 
a  bright  day  under  a  stronger  wind,  they  seem  to 
flow  away  in  waves  of  silvered  emerald.  But  in 
full  and  heavier  ripeness,  they  roll  magnificently 
along  in  billowy  gold.  The  most  enchanting  view, 
for  variety,  richness,  and  spacious  expanses  of  vege- 
table coloring,  is  a  well-cultured  farm,  just  before 
the  earliest  reaping.  It  would  seem  that  the  sun 
had  mustered  his  hues  to  a  gorgeous  gala,  in  wel- 
23 


266  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

come  to  the  gatherers  commencing  their  long  train 
of  harvests.  Come  out,  ye  stived  inhabitants  of 
the  hot  city,  for  rural  walk  or  ride  ;  especially, 
ascend  some  neighboring  eminence,  and  be  en- 
chanted. Pause,  travelers,  on  the  uplands  overlook- 
ing the  Connecticut  river  meadows.  The  sight  will 
leap  down  upon  those  diverse,  alternating  stripes 
of  luxuriance,  and  acknowledge  the  richest  paradise 
it  can  find  between  the  bloomy  beautifulness  of 
Spring  and  the  foliage  glories  of  Autumn. 

The  honors  just  mentioned  as  belonging  to  the 
two  opposite  seasons  we  scarce  dare  describe. 
Many  geniuses  have  painted  their  perfections  with 
an  appropriate  perfectness  of  language,  which  needs 
must  forestall  what  would  be  here  but  a  poor  dap- 
pling of  words. 

Suffice  it  to  say  of  the  blossoming  Spring,  it  is 
the  queenly  infancy  of  the  year  at  the  utmost 
exuberance  of  joyousness  and  gala.  Soils,  heats, 
waters,  airs,  lights,  have  all  conspired  in  preparation, 
and  still  tend  around  for  nurture,  attire  and  embel- 
lishment. Odors  minister  incense,  breezes  fan 
freshness;  the  heavenly  canopy  varies  with 
shadowy  blue  and  the  clearest  deeps  of  azure  j 
or  it  is  decorated  with  lustrous  banner-folds  of 
cloud  which,  unfurling,  shake  down  gems  that 
perchance  drop  through  rainbows,  and  then  melt 
for  the  bathing  of  the  favorite.  The  brooding 
parentage  of  feathered  life  carols  gratulation.  The 
streams  purl,  the  foliage  whispers  in  symphony. 
Human  infancy  laughs  and  claps  its  hands,  and 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  267 

leans  in  embrace  on  the  flowery  bosorn  of  its  own 
sweet,  tenderly-beautiful  emblem.  The  heart  of 
maturer  man  glows,  his  face  brightens  in  sympathy. 
The  pageant  passes,  and  the  year  stands  up  in  the 
youthful  stateliness  of  summer. 

The  grander  pomp  of  the  later  season,  finishing 
into  perfect  ripeness,  or  resting  from  its  fruitful 
energies  and  rejoicing  over  its  abundance,  we  can- 
not indeed  portray.  We  will  just  dare  an  outline 
and  lift  away  our  inadequate  pen.  There  is  serene 
September,  after  reviving  rains  spreading  a  carpet 
of  freshened  green.  It  is  as  if  there  had  fallen 
from  the  skies  a  carpet  of  summer  verdure  on 
which  Autumn  might  drop  its  fruitage  from  its  own 
yet  green  foliage.  In  these  orchard -gifts,  what 
richness,  what  variety  of  hues.  It  would  seem 
that  the  tints  of  Spring  had  arisen  from  the  per- 
ished blooms,  and  climbed  into  the  branches  and 
stolen  over  the  products,  anticipating  the  gust  of 
palate  by  a  feast  to  the  eye. 

But  now  comes  the  great,  final  display  of  orchard, 
grove,  and  forest  pride.  Go  out,  now,  into  nature, 
and  let  the  vision  run  wild.  Go  up  miles  from  the 
duller  sea-lands,  among  the  hills.  Here  are  the 
nobler  maple-woods  in  great  congregation  with 
their  kindred  kings  of  vegetation,  but  outvying  all. 
The  purple,  crimson,  orange,  and  gold  of  the  morn- 
ing; the  bright,  the  deepening,  and  darkening 
changes  of  evening  seem  broken  into  fragments, 
together  with  rainbows  unraveled,  and  all  flung 
abroad  in  dazzling  vestures,  and  these  laced  and 


268  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

spangled  with  the  silver,  glitter  of  waters.  Glance 
through  the  valleys,  gaze  up  the  hill-sides  ;  stand 
upon  the  highest  eminences  and  cast  the  sight 
down,  spread  it  far  away  wide  ;  beauty,  magnifi- 
cence, glory  !  the  eye's  largest  and  most  ecstatic 
range  in  the  luxury  of  colors.  Turn  upward  in 
adoring  gratitude  to  Him  who  holds  in  his  hand 
the  penciling  sun,  and  paints  this  and  all  scenes  for 
thee ;  who  also  transfers  his  pictures  to  the  vast 
halls  of  thy  memory,  to  be  fresh  for  recurrence 
through  immortal  ages.  O  lose  thyself 

"  in  Him,  in  Light  Ineffable  ! 
Come,  then,  expressive  silence,  muse  his  praise  !  " 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

•% 

WATERS. 

"  From  deep  mysterious  wanderings,  your  springs 
Break  bubbling  into  beauty ;  where  they  lie 
In  infant  helplessness  awhile,  but  soon 
Gathering  in  tiny  brooks,  they  gambol  down 
The  steep  sides  of  the  mountains,  laughing,  shouting, 
Teasing  the  wild  flowers,  and  at  every  turn 
Meeting  new  playmates  still  to  swell  their  ranks  ; 
"Which  with  the  rich  increase  resistless  grown, 
Shed  foam  and  thunder,  that  the  echoing  wood 
Rings  with  the  boisterous  glee ;  while  o'er  their  heads, 
Catching  their  spirit  blithe,  young  rainbows  sport, 
The  frolic  children  of  the  wanton  sun." 

THOMAS  WARD. 

WATER  makes  a  large  portion  of  the  world's  scen- 
ery. In  its  various  aspects  of  repose  and  motion,  it 
is  beautiful  or  magnificent.  In  its  figured  courses 
amid  the  diversities  of  land,  it  is  the  animate  pic- 
turesque, running  away  with  the  eye,  delightfully 
lost  in  wandering  captivity. 

We  will  begin  with  the  most  insignificant  water- 
traits.  They  will  be  of  use  to  the  teacher,  training 
the  child  to  profitable  observation.  And  why  shall 
not  the  adult  self-culturist  also  educate  himself  in 
these  primary  lessons  of  lovely  minutiae.  Let  every 
one  gaze  on  the  rill,  the  brook,  or  the  river,  till  he 
23* 


270  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

shall  be  familiar  with  every  characteristic,  and 
learn  to  love  the  gamesome  runner,  as  if  it  were  a 
living  acquaintance  and  had  a  responding  spirit. 
Observe  every  short  turn  or  larger  graceful  sweep. 
Pause  over  the  little  eddy  or  whirl  produced  by 
projecting  bank  or  intervening  rock,  and  look 
steadily  till  the  eye  gets  lost  in  the  little  maze  of 
ripples.  A  considerable  water-fall  is  always  an 
attraction.  But  even  in  the  tiny  rill  we  would  no- 
tice the  little  tumult  of  waters  gurgling  over  the 
rocks  ;  it  is  at  least  a  discipline  to  the  sight.  Per- 
haps there  is  a  slight  cascade  caused  by  a  trifling 
stone.  Or  a  chance-lodged  chip  or  leaf  may  form 
a  brief  space  of  sheeted  water,  smooth  and  trans- 
parent as  glass,  and  a  very  crystal,  with  the  marvel 
of  all  its  particles  in  motion. 

Then  there  is  the  bason  into  which  a  precipitous 
rivulet  may  fall  and  stilly  linger.  Here  the  eye 
gazes  down  into  the  dusky  depth  until  stopped  by 
an  impenetrable  blackness,  into  the  mystery  of 
which  it  would  penetrate  if  it  could.  Or  there 
may  be  a  bright,  sandy  bottom,  so  invitingly  clear 
that  it  would  almost  seem  pleasant  to  leap  in  and 
lie  as  in  a  bed  beneath  the  glassy  sheet.  Some- 
times such  grot  of  the  stream  is  so  underlaid  and 
margined  with  moss,  fringed  with  herbage  and 
overhung  with  tree-foliage,  that  the  whole  water  is 
a  deep  delicious  green.  A  poet  might  fancy  the 
silvery  strips,  drops  and  sprinkles  of  the  broken 
mass  above,  had  been  fused  together  again  and 
transmuted  into  emerald  by  alchymy  of  haunting 


IN   WORD-PAINTINGS.  271 

Naiad.  There  is  a  spectacle  of  the  sort  in  the 
Franconia  Notch  at  the  White  Mountains,  with 
which  the  author  of  Childe  Harold,  had  he  seen, 
would  have  gemmed  his  lay,  attracting  the  travel- 
ing world  to  linger  over  its  then  classic  loveliness. 
.  The  figure  of  a  stream,  as  it  adjusts  itself  to  the 
obstacles  of  its  course,  has  a  peculiar  charm.  It 
seems  to  feel  its  way  along  with  a  cunning  policy, 
combining  convenience  to  itself  and  attractiveness 
to  the  beholder,  as  it 

"  Now  glitters  in  the  sun  and  now  retires, 
As  bashful,  yet  impatient  to  be  seen." 

What  grace,  what  majesty  in  the  larger  river,  as 
from  the  narrow  of  the  hills  it  comes  widening  out 
again,  sweeping  its  shining  train  far  round  the 
meadow,  then  marching  through  the  wood,  or 
wheeling  round  the  promontory,  till  fancy  alone 
can  follow  the  stately  procession. 

Then  there  are  the  thousand  ponds,  or  lakes,  as 
called  in  Europe,  embosomed  in  our  country. 
Holding  the  (Vision  to  an  expansive  unity  of  specta- 
cle, silvering  their  blue  under  the  sunshine,  or  dark- 
ening it  under  the  cloud,  they  are  the  watery  mag- 
nificent. The  eye  of  taste  owns  them  all.  They 
are  the  fee  simple  of  all  the  eyes  in  the  nation,  if 
they  will  but  grasp  and  hold  them  with  a  loving 
sight. 


272  SCENERY-SHOWING, 


CHAPTER    XII. 

SCENERY    AROUND    WATER. 

"  The  visible  scene 
Would  enter  unawares  into  his  mind 
With  all  its  solemn  imagery,  its  rocks, 
Its  woods,  and  that  uncertain  heaven  received 
Into  the  bosom  of  the  steady  lake." 

WORDSWORTH. 

THE  scenery  around  water,  though  before  indi- 
rectly included,  now  claims  more  particular  men- 
tion. It  is  a  sort  of  costume  to  the  liquid,  change- 
able, and  more  life-like  spectacle,  imparting  adorn- 
ment and  receiving  interest,  and  as  it  were  life  in 
return.  « 

There  are  the  grassy  declivity  and  pebbly  mar- 
gin ;  the  jutting  rocks,  or  long  smooth  side  of  a 
cliff.  There  are  the  trees  and  shrubs  leaning 
against  or  standing  upon  these  varieties  of  shore, 
concealing  and  revealing  them  by  turns,  and  con- 
trasting their  green  umbrage  with  the  shaded  blue 
of  the  water.  These  gazed  at  from  the  opposite 
side  of  a  considerable  expanse,  form  a  picture  which 
leisure  might  travel  quite  a  distance  jto  see  and  be 
made  oblivious  of  care. 

How  charming,  viewed  at  a  little  distance,  are 
some  of  the  capes  which  thrust  themselves  into 


IN   WORD-PAINTINGS.  273 

the  inland  pond  or  some  of  our  ocean  bays  and 
creeks.  How  softly  the  eye  slips  from  the. fresher 
green  of  the  moister  points,  and  meets  the  water 
that  sleeps,  or  the  wavelets  that  waken  and  glitter 
upon  the  margin.  Then  in  another  place  is  seen 
the  white  beach  rounding  in  under  the  grassy  or 
bushy  shore,  like  a  bright  rim  curiously  inlaid  be- 
tween the  azure  water  and  the  verdant  land. 

Circumjacent  objects  reflected  in  the  crystal 
element  below  are  an  absolute  enchantment.  They 
seem  an  earthly  embroidery  to  another  firmament, 
which  hollows  its  vast  concave  down,  down  to 
nethermost  grandeur.  A  Parnassian  ancient  might 
have  fancied  it  a  cerulean  theatre,  where  his  water- 
nymphs  could  game  in  chariots  of  cloud  around 
the  golden  goal  of  a  sun. 


274  SCENERY-SHOWING, 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

AN    ILLUSION. 

"  Gentle  Nature  plays  her  part 

With  ever- varying  wiles, 
And  transient  feignings  with  plain  truth. 

So  well  she  reconciles, 
That  those  fond  idlers  most  are  pleased 

Whom  oftenest  she  beguiles." 

WORDSWORTH. 
i 

THERE  is  a  spectacle  with  which  one  may  always 
be  amused  in  traveling,  and  in  which  childhood 
certainly  might  find  curious  sport  to  its  frolicsome 
eye.  As  we  have  never  seen  it  even  mentioned, 
we  will  enliven  our  page  by  its  description.  It  is 
the  apparent  motion  of  objects  on  the  wayside 
as  one  passes  rapidly  along.  Here  is  combined  the 
gracefulness  of  motion  with  picturesque  beauty. 
Indeed  it  seems  as  if  inanimate  nature  were  im- 
bued with  life,  and  acting  the  picturesque  and  beau- 
tiful as  on  a  theatre. 

Any  mode  of  traveling  creates  the  scene,  but  that 
by  steam-car  makes  it  the  most  perfect  from  the 
velocity.  We  cannot  better  illustrate  than  by  de- 
scribing the  spectacle  to  be  witnessed  on  the  rail- 
road between  Boston  and  Salem.  Suppose  your- 
self seated  at  the  window  on  the  right  hand  side 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  275 

and  going  Eastward.  The  grounds,  fences,  and 
trees  nearest,  seem  to  run  past  as  if  they  had  life 
like  animals,  or  soul  of  fire  and  breath  of  vapor,  as 
the  train  has,  and  are  speeding  to  the  city  you  have 
left.  The  hills  and  banks  along  the  bay-shore  ap- 
pear to  stand  still,  or  to  have  a  vacillating  movement, 
as  if  doubtful  which  way  to  go,  or  whether  they 
shall  go  or  stay.  But  the  objects  at  a  still  greater 
distance,  the  round,  heaving  islands,  and  the  tower- 
ing vessels  in  sail-swelled  pomp,  are  proceeding  with 
you,  not  apparently  at  the  same  rapid  rate,  but  with 
a  stately  glide,  such  as  might  befit  things  of  their 
magnitude.  Now  and  then  these  distant  travelers 
will  be  hidden  from  view  by  an  intervening  high 
ground,  anon  they  slide  gracefully  out  from  be- 
hind, keeping  opposite  to  your  elbow,  as  if  they 
had  agreed  to  companionship  and  were  bound  to 
keep  on. 

On  approaching  Salem  you  shoot  in  among  ro- 
mantic cliffs,  soft  meadow-plats,  gleaming  water- 
sheets,  scatterings  of  shrubbery,  and  noble  tree 
clumps  ;  here  you  have  wildness  and  beauty  in  gro- 
tesquest  sport,  as  if  they  had  caught  the  olden 
witchery,  and  were  harmlessly  playing  it  out  for 
the  amusement  of  passengers. 

Returning  to  Boston,  there  is  a  somewhat  ludi- 
crous spectacle  on  the  northern  side.  The  dark 
cliffs  back  of  Lynn  add  to  their  picturesque  charm 
by  taking  up  their  march  in  long  procession.  It 
may  be  that  a  marsh  is  thickly  peopled  with  hay- 
stacks ;  these  set  to  dancing,  as  it  were,  round  a 


276  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

centre  in  a  sort  of  elliptical  orbit,  apparently  with 
as  much  regularity  of  time  and  interspaces  as  if 
they  had  been  trained  by  a  master  and  were  gov- 
erned by  a  lively  music.  The  eye  is  quite  mazed 
at  such  strange  "  poetry  of  motion,"  and  the  organ 
of  mirthfulness  catches  a  brief  pastime  from  this 
jigging  of  the  hay-giants  on  the  lawn  of  their  home- 
stead. 

Further  on,  the  Chelsea  hills  shoot  by  each 
other  with  beautiful  effect  from  their  elliptical 
shape  and  the  peeping  of  houses  between.  It 
seems  as  if  they  were  on  rail-roads  too  j  yet  with 
all  this  mighty  travel  making  no  noise. 

At  length  the  Charlestown  church-steeples  walk 
off  as  on  a  visit  to  the  neighboring  spires  of  the 
city.  And  the  monarch  of  American  monuments 
puts  off  his  steady  sobriety  for  the  frolic,  and  not  to 
be  alone  in  his  grandeur  ;  or  as  fancy  might  say,  he 
leaves  his  hero-hallowed  throne,  and  takes  Boston- 
ward  to  thank  the  patriotic  ladies  that  he  was  not 
left  a  dumpy  dwarf  through  lack  of  provision  for 
growth. 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  277 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

MOUNTAINS. 

"  I  live  not  in  myself,  but  I  become 
Portion  of  that  around  me ;  and  to  me 
High,  mountains  are  a  feeling." 

BYRON. 

WE  owe  an  especial  tribute  to  the  Mountains, 
and  with  the  poet's  Alp-begotten  thought  we  begin. 
our  homage.  We  sympathize  entirely  with  his 
lofty  enthusiasm.  Of  all  earth's  scenery  they  have 
been  by  us  most  sought,  most  loved.  In  their 
changefulness  of  aspect  they  were  the  playmates 
of  our  youthful  fancy.  For  us  they  skirted  them- 
selves with  the  fantastic  mist,  and  wore  a  wreath 
of  it  for  a  crown.  For  us  they  caught  each  crimson 
dawn,  and  told  of  its  beauty.  For  us  they  lifted  a 
foot-stool  of  grandeur  for  the  throne  of  the  setting 
sun.  Then  they  purpled  in  the  twilight,  that  our 
vision  might  have  wider  and  more  varied  range  for 
its  evening  pastime  of  hues. 

With  what  grand  command  tjiey  crowned  the  cli- 
max of  scenery  that  educed  our  taste  arid  charmed 
our  spirit  at  native  home  ;  the  even  meadow,  the 
winding  brook,  the  maple  groves,  the  oval  hills,  the 
over-looking  mountains.  There  they  now  stand,, 
24 


278  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

far-seen  friendly  indicators  of  all  that  subjacent 
loveliness.  Mighty  talismans  of  memory !  when 
discerned  from  any  lofty  distance,  how  we  live  over 
again  sunrises  and  sunsets,  and  many  a  blessed  day 
between ;  many  rambles  alone,  and  some  in  sweet 
companionship ;  alternate  labor  and  literature, 
dreamy  musings  and  keen,  inquisitive  thought. 
How  re-appear  the  long  reaching  prospects  of  con- 
fiding hope,  and  the  glittering  ascents  of  bold  aspi- 
ration. How  our  heart  lifts  itself  and  thrills  with 
this  magic  renewal  of  the  past !  But  anon  it  bends 
in  serene,  submissive  gratitude  to  One  who,  from 
above  these  heights  climbed  by  sight  or  sought  by 
the  soul,  put  forth  a  providential  hand,  and  held 
back  and  bore  forward,  and  carried  to  and  fro  in  de- 
vious course,  ever  displaying  the  varied  pictures  of 
his  pencil,  and  maturing  the  delicious,  innocent 
taste  which  is  here  permitted  an  humble  expres- 
sion. 

Pardon,  benevolent  Reader,  the  reference  to  dear 
landscapes,  and  a  personal  experience,  without 
which  these  word-paintings  might  not  have  been. 
The  name  of  our  topic  has  been  a  magic  ;  let  us 
now  together  feel  the  spell. 

We  would  have  the  soul  as  early  as  possible 
stamped  with  the  impressiveness  of  mountains.  In 
the  first  place,  their  forms  are  a  study.  There  is 
the  variety  of  surface  shaping  their  bases ;  then 
therefrom  their  ascent,  gradual  and  smooth  with 
pasture  or  thickset  wood,  or  more  diverse  in  out- 
line, with  round  protuberance  of  hill  or  huge  projec- 
tion of  bluff. 


IN   WORD-PAINTINGS.  279 

Lastly,  their  summits :  these  stretch  into  long  ridge, 
with  more  or  less  discernible  prominences,  like  an 
enormous  rampart,  with  bastions  builded  against  the 
storms.  They  otherwise  swell  gently  into  curve, 
moulding  the  attractive  beauty  of  an  arch  out  of 
the  horizon.  Again,  they  heave  boldly  into  peak, 
or  shoot  wildly  into  pinnacle,  as  it  were,  notching 
in  and  splitting  open  the  sky. 

When  several  of  these  abrupt  heights  happen 
quite  closely  together  in  cluster  or  range,  a  curious 
snectacle  is  presented  by  the  sky  to  the  distant  ob- 
server, fancy  assisting  the  view.  A  belt  of  the 
great  firmament,  bending  majestically  over  from  the 
zenith,  finishes  its  descent  earthward  with  inverted 
mountain-shapes,  of  cloudy  grey  or  azure  bright ; 
these  confronting  the  dark  blue  earth-giants  in 
grandeur-making  competition. 

In  traveling  in  the  vicinity  of  a  mountain,  it  is 
entertainingly  noticeable  how  it  will  vary  its  ap- 
pearance, as  the  beholder  shifts  his  relative  position. 
One  can  hardly  believe,  sometimes,  that  it  is  the 
same  object,  it  is  so  unaccountably  altered.  It 
seems  a  sort  of  Protean  pantomime,  playing  pranks 
of  transformation. 

Again,  it  is  a  matter  of  interest,  how  the  hue  of 
mountains  changes,  ever  imparting  novel  interest, 
from  the  first  peep  of  morning  to  the  final  shading- 
off  at  evening  twilight. 

How  the  thick  cloudiness  of  some  days  will  shed 
down  upon  them  its  sombreness.  How  will  the 
dark  overhanging  thunder-cloud  deepen  their  blue 


280  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

to  the  very  verge  of  blackness,  impressing  the  sol- 
emn sublime,  as  cloud  and  mountain  seem  almost 
joined  arid  blended  together  in  one  dark  expanse. 
We  say,  let  the  lesson  of  the  school-room  be  left, 
let  domestic  labor  pause,  where  no  necessity  hurries, 
to  place  the  mind  under  such  enlivening,  or  soul- 
subduing  aspects. 

No  scenery  probably  tends  more  to  awaken  and 
ennoble  the  sentiment  of  patriotism  than  mountains. 
Seas  make  their  magnificence  common  to  the 
separate  lands  they  expand  between.  The  all-en- 
compassing ocean  gives  its  sublimity  of  waters  to  a 
world.  But  mountains — solid  earth's  uttermost 
grandeur — are  a  nation's  own.  They  are  fastened 
upon  a  country's  form  like  a  vast  member — the  de- 
vice and  creation  of  God.  They  bear  upon  their 
sides  and  hold  beneath  their  surfaces  its  cities  and 
villages,  yet  to  be  built,  together  with  implements 
and  ornaments  yet  to  be  wrought.  With  perpetual 
industry  they  spin  forth  the 

"  Streams  that  tie  her  realms  with  silver  bands." 

They  are  not  only  individualized,  each  by  its  own 
peculiar  aspect,  but  consecrated  by  a  particular  name. 
They  are  clad  with  local  associations,  and  mantled 
all  over  and  beautified  to  the  heart  by  a  national  in- 
terest. When  a  neighboring  inhabitant  journeys 
away,  his  last  backward  look,  his  first  returning 
glance,  are  to  them.  They  indicate  his  home.  Ah  ! 
just  down  there  beneath,  are  his  best  loves,  and  his 
bosom  thrills  again.  The  mariner  or  other  traveler 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  281 

across  the  ocean  holds  them  in  his  last  aching  gaze 
as  long  as  he  can  ;  and  thitherward  his  heart  aims 
its  last  adieu.  On  his  return,  how  he  labors  for  the 
earliest  glimpse  at  their  summits.  They  seem 
as  soaring  heralds  from  home — angels  of  the  great 
patriotic  presence,  coming  to  meet  him,  crying, 
"  Hither  ward — O,  welcome !  " 

Mountains  are  the  final  citadel  of  national  free- 
dom, founded  when  the  land  was  prepared  above 
the  seas,  as  if  freedom  should  be  esteemed  as  dear  as 
life.  Here  is  the  last  refuge  of  the  patriot  few. 
And  if  these  should  be  captured,  the  heaven-built 
battlements  still  abide  to  await  their  return.  War 
will  not  dig  them  down  or  dismantle  them  of  their 
ridged  walls  and  caverned  embrasures.  Here  the 
Genius  of  Liberty  dwells  ever  fast,  still  sounding 
her  trumps  of  echo,  and  waving  to  and  fro  her  sig- 
nal banners  of  cloud.  She  never  dies.  The  Eter- 
nal Spirit  is  her  life.  He  keeps  her  high  toward 
His  All-rnighty  presence,  that  when  the  exiles  shall 
return,  or  a  nation  shall  break  its  chains,  or  arise  re- 
generate from  its  vices,  or  when  a  youthful  people 
shall  nobly  aspire,  they  may  all  know  whither  to 
turn  for  encouragement  and  blessing. 

Such  are  the  mountains  to  the  patriotic,  at  least  to 
the  classically  poetic  mind.  Go  then,  fellow  coun- 
trymen, and  gaze.  Stand,  with  your  children 
around  you,  and  teach  them  to  look  up  to  these 
"  everlasting  hills  "  with  a  reverent  love.  If  the 
blue  ridges  and  peaks  stretch  and  tower  not  within 
view  of  home,  let  an  hour  or  hours  be  spent  in 
24* 


282  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

resorting  to  spots,  where  may  be  seen  those  piles 
and  points  that  so  impress  with  grandeur,  and  a 
grandeur,  too,  so  romantically  connected  with  the 
cherished  idea  of  native  land.  Yea,  go  up  into 
their  very  midst,  —  Fathers  with  your  families, 
Teachers  with  your  schools,  and  hold  intimate 
communion.  But  let  all  voices  be  hushed,  except 
to  fitting  language — that  of  meditative,  ennobling 
•thought.  There  study  every  aspect  and  catch  its 
picture  upon  the  memory  ;  gorge,  glen,  cavern,  and 
•crevice — veiled  in  shadow  or  hidden  in  deeper 
darkness  ;  shivered  crag,  rocky  acclivity,  or  wooded 
brow,  and  far  bold  summit.  Be  still  and  hearken 
also — the  sigh  of  trees,  the  dash  of  waters,  the 
roar  of  winds,  the  resounding  of  echo — it  is  from 
the  ancient  orchestra  of  the  solitudes,  ever  awaiting 
the  sublime  symphonies  of  the  living  heart ! 

Thus  far  the  scenes,  the  sounds,  the  influences 
below.  But  rest  not  contented  with  these.  One 
whom  the  mountain  Muse  and  the  genius  of  Free- 
dom inspired  in  very  childhood,  thus  admonishes, 
and  would  bear  you  up  on  the  pinions  of  his 
verse, — 

"  Thou  who  wouldst  see  the  lovely  and  the  wild, 
Mingled  in  harmony  on  Nature's  face, 
Ascend  our  rocky  mountains.     Let  thy  foot 
Fail  not  with  weariness,  for  on  their  tops 
The  beauty  and  the  majesty  of  earth, 
Spread  wide  beneath,  shall  make  thee  to  forget 
The  steep  and  toilsome  way." 

We  would  have  all  our  countrymen,  if  possible, 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  283 

visit  those  groups  of  grandeur  in  the  North,  which 
are  still  more  aggrandized  by  the  names  of  illustri- 
ous statesmen.  At  least,  let  not  any  talk  wishfully 
of  the  Alps,  and  yearn  to  catch  the  stormy  spirit  of 
Byron  from  their  avalanches,  tempests  and  peaks,  till 
they  have  held  this  exalted  communion  at  home. 

Suppose  a  clear  day  in  summer,  and  one  is  on 
such  ennobling,  exciting  pilgrimage.  His  first 
vision  of  the  mountains  is  at  a  far  distance.  How 
gracefully  they  run  their  smooth,  blue  pinnacles 
sharp  into  the  light  azure  sky.  On  nearer  approach, 
they  enlarge  round  about,  they  lift  themselves  up 
into  grandeur.  Finally,  stand  beneath  their  might- 
iest presence,  and  to  pious  fancy  they  seem  a  mani- 
fold throne  to  which  the  All-mighty  Maker  bows 
the  heavens  and  comes  down  to  receive  the  awed 
scene-pilgrim's  profoundest  homage. 

But  let  this  spectacle  and  its  emotions  pass. 
First,  now  those  mountain  appurtenances,  the  two 
long,  deep  defiles,  where  the  beautiful,  the  wild, 
the  grotesque  and  the  grand,  in  continuous  and 
mingled  arrangement  break  and  alternate  upon  the 
eye,  like  the  ever  novel  passages  of  a  romance. 
One  might  fancy  the  well-wrought  varying  way, 
with  the  lofty  cliff-sides  and  forest  garniture,  and 
the  silver  inlay  of  stream,  to  be  the  courtly  avenue 
to  the  august  Royalty  of  the  mountains. 

Now  ascend.  How  the  thousand  objects  below — 
rocks,  trees,  edifices,  become  belittled.  Bold  sur- 
faces, even  the  very  hills,  flatten  into  sameness  and 
are  lost.  You  stand  on  Mount  Washington  !  Lo  ! 


284  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

the  wide,  wide  country,  deep  below,  and  far,  far 
around  ;  settled  towns,  intervening  woods,  streams, 
and  ponds,  the  wild  stretch  of  forests,  darkly  green, 
and  lakes  just  gleaming  upon  the  horizon.  Infe- 
rior but  high  mountains  run  away  into  distance, 
like  a  vast  reach  of  billows  that  had  been  stopped 
and  hardened  into  everlasting  stability.  Away  on 
the  western  horizon,  the  Vermont  heights  range 
themselves,  but  their  loftiest  peaks  in  lowly  defer- 
ence. Hither  ward,  the  Connecticut  sends  up  its 
vapory  garlands.  Other  summits  do  reverence  in 
blue  distinctness,  or  misty  dimness.  A  peaked 
family  of  eminences  stand  close  around  as  in 
courtly  waiting.  Overhanging  all,  is  the  great, 
domed  heaven.  Centred  amid  all, — the  beholder. 
What  his  emotions  ?  There  comes  up  from  below, 
there  flows  in  from  around,  there  descends  from 
above,  the  grandeur  of  expanse,  the  sublimity  of 
vastness. 

It  is  at  Mount  Washington,  the  loftiest  of  our 
Atlantic  country,  and  "grand  with  its  greatest  name. 
Let  the  occasion  be  consecrated  and  holy.  Now 
sing  the  songs  of  Freedom.  Now  quote  the 
immortal  poets ;  add  to  the  mightiness  of  nature, 
the  living  mightiness  of  genius.  Let  Romance 
and  Patriotism  grow  religious,  and  in  still,  small, 
and  solemn  tones,  find  expression  through  sacred 
hymn,  or  holiest  Writ.  Then  the  soul  shall 
be  high,  and  lifted  up  to  the  uttermost,  till  ador- 
ingly lost  in  that  Most  High,  who  was,  before  the 
mountains  were  brought  forth,  or  the  earth  and  the 


IN*  WORD-PAINTINGS.  285 

worlds  had  been  formed  ;  and  who  is,  from  everlast- 
ing to  everlasting. 

So  do,  and  it  is  a  life's  one  occasion  of  blessed- 
ness— Patriotism  and  Piety  in  a  momentary  per- 
fection. 


286 


SCENERY-SHOWING, 


CHAPTER    XV. 


WATER-FALLS. 


"  Now  that  I  have  communed  with  the  vast — 


Seen  the  veil  rent  from  Nature's  stormy  shrine, 
Heard  her  wild  lessons  of  magnificence 
In  cataract  voices,  'mid  the  echoing  rocks, 

I  feel  a  louder  call  upon  my  soul 

A  trumpet  sound ; — and  as  a  soldier  girds 
Himself  for  war,  so  will  I  gird  my  thoughts 
For  conquest  o'er  the  world  !  " 

MRS.  CAROLINE  GILMAK. 

THERE  are  many  admirable  poetic  tributes  to  the 
scenery  now  in  view,  but  we  have  quoted  this  frag- 
ment because  it  is  crowned  with  so  admirable  a  moral. 
It  may  be  compared  to  the  rain-bow  cloud  of  the 
cataract — a  glorious  spirit-like  being  born  out  of 
tumult  and  irresistibly  going  heavenward.  Read 
the  "  Poetry  of  Traveling,"  and  especially  that  in- 
termingling of  the  beautiful  and  grand,  the  lines 
on  Trenton  Falls,  and  who  would  not  visit  such 
scenery,  and  also  catch  the  mighty  inspiration  ? 

But  we  must  enter  into  prosaic  detail.  First, 
there  are  the  wild  rocks — some  round,  some  jagged, 
some  sharply  pointed,  jutting  out,  shooting  up,  with 
cracks  and  hollows,  or  deeper  caverns  beneath,  and 
gravelly  banks,  or  rude  cliffs,  and  shrubs  or  trees 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  287 

darkening  the  sky  above  ;  then  the  waters,  wilder 
still  with  their  swiftness  and  tumult.  First  the 
calmer  stream  pours  to  the  precipice,  then  the  tor- 
rent tumbles  this  way  and  dashes  that,  with  foam 
and  spray,  and  perhaps  rainbow,  and  finally  rushes 
into  the  deep,  still  pool,  as  to  a  bed  of  rest  to  its 
tired  energies.  It  may  be  that  some  long,  high 
rock  may  form  a  cascade,  exhibiting  here  a  straight- 
ened crystal  ribbon  of  fluid,  and  there  the  most 
delicate  threads,  and  in  certain  positions  of  the 
sun,  all  glittering  with  the  fascination  of  prismatic 
coloring. 

Scenes  somewhat  like  these  may  be  found  in  the 
vicinity  of  every  town,  at  least  in  many-hilled  and 
many-watered  New  England.  Let  such  scenes  be 
sought  out  and  become  the  resort  of  families  and 
schools  as  a  delicious  pastime.  With  judicious 
teaching,  what  a  spirit  of  patriotism,  and  of  religion, 
might  steal  forth  from  the  spectacle  into  the  shrine 
of  the  young  heart. 

We  would  have  every  American,  at  least  once  in 
his  life,  visit  Niagara.  If  from  the  East,  let  him 
take  the  minor  falls  in  his  way.  There  is  the 
Trenton,  the  bold  and  beautiful,  arrayed  in  the 
most  fantastic  costume  of  rock  and  wood.  If  this 
shall  be  the  first  considerable  spectacle  of  the  kind 
he  has  seen,  can  he  but  exclaim,  with  her  already 
quoted — 

"  My  God, 

I  thank  thee  for  this  wondrous  birth  of  joy, 
Unfelt,  and  uniinagined  till  this  hour ! " 


288  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

Then  let  him  pause  at  the  Genessee,  until  its  one 
long  cascade  shall  impress  its  sober  magnificence. 
But  let  him  stop  and  abide  as  long  as  he  can  at 
Niagara.  He  has  been  prepared  to  go  up  to  the 
world's  wonder,  by  successive  grades  of  romantic 
and  religious  emotion.  He  now  stands  amazed 
before  the  power  and  majesty  and  glory  of  waters  ; 
and  his  spirit  bows  down  with  intensest  awe  before 
Him  who  spake,  and  the  cataract  was,  who  wills, 
and.  it  continues. 

Here  might  Patriotism  swell  with  its  loftiest 
aspirations.  Ye  energies  of  enterprise !  tear  down 
the  hills,  fill  up  the  valleys,  bore  through  the  moun- 
tains, chequer  the  whole  land  with  smooth  stearn- 
ways,  until  every  son  and  daughter  of  our  country 
shall  be  able  once  in  life  to  behold  Niagara  !  be 
able  to  come  where  the  northwestern  seas  do  con- 
gregate, and  with  one  stupendous  voice  of  benedic- 
tion bless  the  shore  of  freedom,  and  lift  Nature's 
sublimest  anthem  to  ^Freedom's  God,  before  they 
depart  our  country's  line  and  lose  their  nationality 
in  earth's  common  deep. 

We  close  our  chapter  with  a  portion  of  Mrs. 
Sigourney's  sublime  apostrophe  to  Niagara.  It 
should  be  read  by  all  who  have  not  beheld  and 
listened  to  this  mighty  minister  of  the  All-mighty, 
to  induce  them  to  its  presence.  It  should  be  pe- 
rused as  often  as  possible  by  those  who  have  gazed 
and  heard,  that  the  awful  lesson  may  not  be  forgot- 
ten, but  even  be  more  deeply  impressed  by  hand- 
maid genius.  We  may  somewhat  add  by  it  to  the 
chances  of  perusal. 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  289 

"  Flow  on  forever  in  thy  glorious  robe 
Of  terror  and  of  beauty.    Yea,  flow  on, 
TJnfathoraed  and  resistless.     God  hath  set 
His  rainbow  on  thy  forehead ;  and  the  cloud 
Mantled  around  thy  feet.     And  he  doth  give 
Thy  voice  of  thunder,  power  to  speak  of  Him 
Eternally — bidding  the  lip  of  man 
Keep  silence— and  upon  thy  rocky  altar  pour 
Incense  of  awe-struck  praise. 
******* 

Thou  dost  make  the  soul 
A  wondering  witness  of  thy  majesty, 
But  as  it  presses  with  delirious  joy 
To  pierce  thy  vestibule,  dost  chain  its  step 
And  tame  its  rapture,  with  the  humbling  view 
Of  its  own  nothingness,  bidding  it  stand 
In  the  dread  presence  of  the  Invisible, 
As  if  to  answer  to  its  God  through  thee." 


25 


290  SCENERY-SHOWING. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

OCEAN. 

"  Great  beauteous  Being  !  in  whose  breath  and  smile 
My  heart  beats  calmer,  and  my  very  mind 
Inhales  salubrious  thoughts. 
The  Spirit  of  the  Universe  in  thee 
Is  visible ;  thou  hast  in  thee  the  life, 
The  eternal,  graceful  and  majestic  life 
Of  nature,  and  the  natural  human  heart 
Is  therefore  bound  to  thee  with  holy  love." 

CAMPBELL. 

THE  OCEAN  !  What  spectacles  of  the  most  va- 
rious, of  loveliest  beauty,  of  picturesque  interest, 
of  deep,  impressive  grandeur,  does  it  afford  to  him 
who  will  but  pause  from  his  play,  or  stop  from 
his  labor  to  look.  Note  on  the  shore,  the  milky 
beaches,  the  shotting  capes,  grey  with  ledge  or 
green  with  herbage,  the  ragged  rocks,  the  towering 
cliffs,  the  deep,  fearful  gorges,  around  which  the 
eternal  tides  flap  and  dash  and  overwhelm.  Then 
its  waters  of  varying  hues  of  green,  as  they  lie 
close  under  the  eye  or  recede  therefrom,  but  of 
dark  blue,  as  they  stretch  toward  their  shoreless 
infinitude,  beneath  the  blue  of  the  infinite  sky. 
What  changing  aspects  does  the  sea  surface  present 
beneath  cloud  or  sunbeam,  or  as  the  mist  hovers  in 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  291 

folds  or  lies  in  strips  just  above.  Then  the  vessel, 
that 

"  Walks  the  water  like  a  thing  of  life : " 

what  can  be  more  fascinating  to  the  vision  than 
this,  as  it  careers  on  its  course  in  full  view  from  the 
shore.  How  graceful  its  motion  ;  how  as  with 
sudden  magic  its  form  and  even  color  shift,  as  it 
tacks  this  way  and  that,  and  presents  prow  or  stern 
or  broadside  to  the  eye.  Then  what  a  difference 
between  the  shaded  and  (he  sunny  side  of  the  sail. 
Let  the  object  be  a  great  ship  of  a  clear  afternoon, 
with  all  its  canvas  swelled  to  the  utmost,  rounding 
out  like  the  rolls  of  a  thunder-cloud,  and  .all  this 
reflecting  the  slanted  but  bright  beams  of  the  de- 
scending sun,  and  we  cannot  better  express  our- 
selves than  to  say  that  it  is  glorious,  glorious  ! 

We  would  have  all  the  youth  in  our  country, 
from  the  sides  of  the  remotest  mountains,  for  once, 
if  possible,  visit  the  seaside,  to  behold  and  wonder 
at  the  marvels  of  God  around  and  upon  the  great 
deep.  If  they  could  not  tarry  to  gaze  on  the  tre- 
mendousness  of  a  storm,  they  might  at  least  treas- 
ure in  remembrance  the  glory  of  a  sunrise  from  the 
sea.  For  the  sake  of  illustration,  may  we  be  per- 
mitted to  present  a  scene  beheld  from  the  window 
of  our  chamber,  at  a  friend's  house  on  a  high 
ground  in  Marshfield,  the  description  being  penned 
directly  afterward  on  the  spot. 

The  eastern  sky  was  all  purple  and  gold,  and  the 
smooth  ocean-  beneath,  all  purple  and  gold  from 


292  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

reflection.  There  seemed  a  double  aurora,  for  so 
perfect  was  the  correspondence  between  the  origi- 
nal and  the  reflected  light,  that  we  could  scarcely 
define  the  line  of  the  horizon  that  parted  sky  and 
water.  They  were  fused  together,  as  it  were,  into 
one  changefully  effulgent  expanse.  Just  at  the 
point  in  the  horizon,  to  which  the  sun  was  ap- 
proaching, there  soon  appeared  a  little  centre  from 
which  radiant  hues  streamed  not  only  upward  but 
apparently  downward,  with  a  most  magical  effect. 
Shortly*  there  was  a  glimpse  of  reddish  gold.  This 
elongated  into  size,  then  rounded,  as  it  came  up 
and  up,  till  there  seemed,  as  it  were,  an  upheaving 
hill  of  flame,  till  half  the  luminary  was  above  the 
water,  when  it  gradually  shaped  itself  into  a  glow- 
ing but  clearly  defined  and  mighty  globe,  as  ready, 
apparently,  to  roll  in  its  magnificent  plenitude  round 
the  horizon,  as  to  glide  and  shrink  into  the  sky. 
To  enhance  the  delight  of  the  scene,  the  house 
seemed  to  be  surrounded  by  birds,  pouring  out  their 
first  gush  of  mingling  melodies,  as  it  were  in  praise 
of  the  Founder  of  the  seas  and  the  Father  of 
lights. 

Were  such  a  spectacle  to  be  presented  in  nature 
but  once  in  a  hundred  years,  and  the  exact  moment 
of  it  could  be  calculated,  how  would  men  and 
women  and  children  throng  from  city  and  village 
and  the  far  hills,  in  wonder  to  behold  it ! 

But  now,  who  thinks  of  traveling  a  mile,  on 
purpose  for  the  cheap  yet  intense  and  exalted  pleas- 
ure of  beholding  the  glories  of  sunrise  at  sea. 


IN   WORD-PAINTINGS.  293 

But,  ye  leisure  summer  visitors  of  the  Atlantic 
coast,  is  it  possible  that  you  forego  the  spectacle, 
for  the  sake  of  late-sitting  frivolity  at  night,  and 
late-lying  insensibility  or  indolence  in  the  morning  ? 
Awake,  up !  The  clarion  of  Genius  calls,  let  the 
soul  now  listen  to  its  exulting  strains! 

"  With  thee  beneath  my  windows,  pleasant  Sea, 
I  long  not  to  o'er  look  earth's  fairest  glades 
And  green  savannahs.    Earth  has  not  a  plain 
So  boundless  or  so  beautiful  as  thine, 

Nor  on  the  stage 

Of  rural  landscape  are  there  lights  and  shades 
Of  more  harmonious  dance  and  play  than  thine. 

There's  lore 

In  all  thy  change,  and  constant  sympathy 
With  yonder  sky,  thy  mistress ;  from  her  brow 
Thou  tak'st  thy  moods,  and  wear'st  her  colors  on 
Thy  faithful  bosom. 

And  all  thy  balmier  hours,  fair  Element, 
Have  such  divine  complexion,  crisped  smiles, 
Luxuriant  hearings,  and  sweet  whisperings, 
That  little  is  the  wonder  Love's  own  Queen 
From  thee  of  old  was  fabled  to  have  sprung." 

CAMPBELL. 


25 


294  SCENERY-SHOWING, 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE    SKIES    OF    DAY. 

"  The  sky  bent  round, 
The  awful  dome  of  a  most  mighty  temple, 
Built  by  omnipotent  hands  for  nothing  less 
Than  infinite  worship." — PERCIVAL. 

How  infinitely  diversified  and  varied  is  the  scen- 
ery of  the  common  sky  ;  yet  the  million  mostly 
regard  it  as  the  source  of  fair  weather  and  foul. 

First,  the  form.  The  curve,  of  all  figures,  is  the 
most  charming  to  the  sight.  In  the  sky  we  have 
this  in  the  highest  possible  perfection  ;  the  lines 
of  utmost  beauty  woven  into  one  all-surrounding 
curve.  The  centre  is  directly  above  every  be- 
holder. The  zenith  ever  moves  with  him  and 
pauses  above  him  whenever  he  stops.  From  this 
point  down  to  the  whole  circle  of  the  horizon  is 
dimension,  the  largest  within  the  ability  of  sense. 
Then  the  color,  when  entirely  clear,  serenest  azure, 
next  to  green,  the  vision's  dearest  love.  We  can- 
not briefly  better  describe  the  spectacle  than  to  say, 
beautiful  vastness.  When  the  atmosphere  is  at  the 
purest,  there  is  an  intense  pleasure  in  a  fixed  gaze 
just  at  the  one  heavenly  hue.  It  would  seem  as  if 
intervening  space  were  annihilated,  and  the  azure 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  295 

flowed  into  the  very  eye  ;  or  rather,  perhaps,  as  if 
the  sense  plunged  in  and  were  lost  in  cerulean 
luxury. 

Next  we  have  the  occasional  and  flitting  garni- 
ture of  the  sky.  There  are  forms,  and  often  hues 
in  the  flying  or  pausing  cloud  worth  detaining  the 
eye  for  a  new  emotion  of  beauty.  But  let  us  first 
trace  these  fabrics  from  their  source,  so  beautiful 
are  their  beginnings.  There  is  the  vapor  as  it 
smokes  up  from  the  waters.  Perhaps  it  lies  heavily 
for  a  time,  like  a  light  grey  wall  over  the  distant 
stream.  Sometimes  it  rises  high  into  air  at  once, 
and  quite  compactly  with  a  parted  and  flighty  edge, 
or  in  broken  masses,  each  with  little  strips  above, 
as  preceding  pointers  to  the  direction  ;  or  it  may  be, 
in  wreaths  with  a  sort  of  spiral  ascent  attractively 
graceful  in  form  and  movement.  How  cunningly 
it  creeps  or  fantastically  curls  up  a  mountain  side  j 
then,  it  may  be,  infolding  its  crown  and  matting 
itself  into  a  cap.  In  certain  positions  of  the  morn- 
ing sun,,  its  glances  at  the  mist  are  reflected  in 
the  most  delicate  tinges,  as  of  floating  changeable 
gauze. 

Clouds  in  the  sky  ; — a  scenery  infinitely  diverse 
and  ever  diversifying  anew.  Let  us  contemplate 
and  analyze.  There  is  the  separate  lonely  mass, 
its  singleness  giving  interest.  There  is  the  scol- 
loped circumference,  the  inner  foldings,  the  middle 
plainness ;  these  shaded  down  from  sunny  bright- 
ness to  the  dusk  of  the  smooth  centre.  It  rests 
like  the  car  of  a  reposing  demigod  on  the  serene 


296  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

cerulean.  It  may  be  borne  along  gently  by  the 
breeze.  Here  the  graphic  and  tasteful  genius  of 
Bryant  shall  lend  description.  He  makes  such  an 
one  the  chariot  of  his  Muse,  taking  his  fancy  on  a 
world-tour. 

"  Beautiful  cloud  with  folds  so  soft  and  fair, 

Swimming  in  the  pure  and  quiet  air ! 
Thy  fleeces  bathed  in  sunlight,  while  below 

Thy  shadow  o'er  the  vale  moves  slow ; 
Where  midst  their  labor  pause  the  reaper  train 

As  cool  it  comes  along  the  grain." 

Sometimes  the  sky  is  all  crowded  with  clouds  of 
this  character,  a  multitudinous,  multiform  host.  It 
is  the  noblest  grandeur  of  cloudy  numbers  and  di- 
versities. 

A  more  quiet  spectacle  is  the  vapor  lying  farther 
up  and  fastened  against  the  sky  in  lengthy  bars, 
over-lapping  each  other,  or  with  seams  of  clear  or 
shaded  blue  between.  Or  it  may  be,  there  is  the 
appearance  of  innumerable  little  hassocks  threading 
out  from  a  thicker  centre  into  the  clear  interspaces. 
It  is  enlivening,  again,  to  observe  light  thin  clouds, 
lower  down,  brushing  frolicsomely  by  this  stable 
ceiling,  with  their  gauzy  wings. 

There  is  one  scene  for  which  the  coming  of 
summer  always  makes  us  glad  ;  and  if  presenting 
it  less  frequently,  we  feel  a  privation.  It  is  when 
the  thunder  chariots  are  rolling  in  their  tardy 
majesty  and  draw  together  and  interlock  each  other, 
as  if  in  thick  gathering  at  some  magnificent  tourna- 
ment. See  their  dark  bodies,  grey  borders,  and 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  297 

brassy  rims.  What  grand  involutions,  like  as  wheel 
upon  wheel.  Or  perhaps  their  edges  point  out  like 
awning  pinnacles  under  the  sunbeams.  But  all  these 
disappear  as  if  drawn  behind  a  thick  dark  curtain, 
to  hide  the  display  from  mortal  eyes.  Through 
this  the  lightnings  flash  or  dart  along  in  momentary 
crinkles,  terrifically  beautiful.  Hearken  also  !  it  is 
the  thunder  rolling  deep  and  solemn  in  the  dis- 
tance, or  bursting  near  with  a  sudden  crash,  with 
echo  upon  echo,  reverberating  around  the  arena  of 
the  storm.  We  have  indulged  in  rather  a  classical 
and  romantic  view  of  the  scene.  It  is  better,  how- 
ever, to  seek  religious  aspects.  It  is  the  Almighty 
who  buildeth  pavilions  there,  arid  inhabiteth  them 
with  his  thunders,  and  beareth  them  along  on  the 
wings  of  his  winds.  He  openeth  their  folds  with 
his  hand  of  lightning,  and  sweepeth  it  in  swift 
benefaction,  touching  the  air  with  healing,  fresh- 
ness and  balm. 

Why  should  not  a  whole  school  go  forth  from 
their  uneasy  benches  and  sultry  confinement,  and 
watch  in  still  seriousness  such  a  spectacle.  In 
the  emotions  of  beauty,  grandeur  and  sublimity, 
called  forth  by  the  teacher's  aid,  the  terrors  usually 
felt  would  subside.  It  is  on  such  occasions  that 
religion  should  be  made  to  take  its  mightier  hold, 
and  the  heart  be  bowed  down  to  its  most  solemn 
worship ;  and  all  this  without  an  abasing  shudder- 
ing fear  of  the  Invisible  Spirit  of  the  scene.  With 
love  and  filial  trust,  as  well  as  with  adoring  awe, 
they  might  contemplate  him  who  maketh  the 


298  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

clouds  his  chariot,  and  thundereth  marvelously 
with  his  voice. 

Then,  after  a  shower,  there  is  the  out-breaking 
sun,  the  glorious  rainbow,  the  glittering  water-drops 
on  herb  and  tree,  and  the  renewed  and  most  glad- 
some minstrelsy  of  birds.  But  poetry  from  the 
earliest  ages  has  been  so  lavishly  rich  in  its  descrip- 
tions of  these,  that  any  language  of  ours  would  be 
tame  and  altogether  useless.  There  is  one  little 
piece  of  literature  to  which  we  cannot  now  but 
refer.  It  is  the  "  Scene  after  a  Summer  Shower," 
by  Andrews  Norton.  Although  read  by  thousands 
a  hundred  times  over  in  Pierpont's  Class-book,  it 
will  bear  perusal  a  life  through,  as  often  as  Nature 
shall  renew  her  original.  It  should  be  committed 
to  memory  by  every  child  in  the  land.  Thus,  the 
splendor,  the  joy,  the  jubilant  religiousness  of  the 
spectacle,  when  recurring,  shall  be  more  truly  re- 
ceived, felt  and  reflected  by  his  mirroring  soul. 

We  have  already  portrayed  the  Morning  in  some 
faint  manner.  We  did  so  because  some  of  our 
readers,  we  fear,  have  not  much  acquaintance  with 
the  healthy,  lovely,  fascinating  aspect.  We  wished 
to  excite  some  curiosity,  and  if  possible  kindle  a 
love.  But  the  Evening — the  evening  sky,  all  see 
this,  and  who  of  the  very  least  taste  does  not  ad- 
mire. A  thousand  writers  have  reveled  too  in  the 
description.  Their  word-paintings  of  sunsets  and 
twilights  would  make  a  volume  of  themselves. 
There  is,  however,  one  concomitant  of  the  evening 
glories  of  which  we  would  just  give  a  hint.  It  is 


IN    WOKD-PAINTINGS.  299 

their  reflection  from  a  still  sheet  of  water.  The 
scene  is  worth  walking  a  mile  for,  at  every  leisure 
close  of  a  day. 

What  a  superb  reality  above,  yet  a  more  tran- 
scendant  illusion  beneath.  The  effulgent  segments 
of  two  heavenly  hemispheres,  rim  to  rim,  fastened 
by  a  narrow  hoop  of  earth.  The  sun  is  going,  and 
goes  down  ;  another  sun,  a  luminary  twin,  face  to 
face,  feature  to  feature,  comes  round  up  to  meet 
him  in  affectionate  greeting.  They  gaze  upon 
each  other's  radiant  countenances,  and  retire  to- 
gether, as  it  were  to  hide  their  fraternal  embrace 
behind  the  curtains  of  twilight.  Now,  how  hue 
answers  to  hue,  shade  to  shade,  in  all  the  varying, 
deepening  changes.  Of  the  two,  the  inverted 
water-scene  is  the  most  enchanting,  from  the  nov- 
elty of  position  and  the  more  delicate  softness  of 
the  radiance.  The  almost  spiritual  light  seems 
here  spiritualized  perfectly.  The  circles  of  splen- 
dor continue  to  glide  down  and  to  glide  up,  meet- 
ing together  and  narrowing  as  they  pass  away,  till 
they  are  but  glimpses,  and  are  gone.  Meanwhile 
two  vast  nights  have  been  mutually  approaching, 
marching  round  in  thousand-gemmed  majesty. 
Now  they  lay  together,  their  star-girt  brows  in  em- 
bracing repose. 


300  SCENERY-SHOWING, 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


THE    MOON. 

"  When,  as  the  gairish  day  is  done, 
Heaven  burns  with  the  descended  sun, 

'Tis  passing  sweet  to  mark, 
Amid  that  flash  of  crimson  light, 
The  new  moon's  modest  bow  grow  bright 

As  earth  and  sky  grow  dark." 


BKYANT. 


IT  is  said  somewhere  in  Walter  Scott's  writings, 
if  we  remember  rightly,  that  most  youth  advance 
not  beyond  sixteen  without  getting  as  far  as  "O 
thou,"  in  a  sonnet  to  the  moon.  We  have  never 
even,  till  now,  so  far  sought  favor  of  the  lovely 
planet.  That  she  may  not  now  deem  us  neglectful 
in  our  skyey  lauditories,  our  sublunary  friends  will 
pardon  us  for  devoting  here  a  little  plain  prose  in 
her  honor. 

The  new  moon  is  always  a  welcome  sight. 
There  has  been  a  season  of  darkness.  Perchance 
the  clouds  have  hid  the  stars,  making  a  stumbling 
night.  How  then  like  a  smiling  lip  on  a  glowing 
face  appears  the  delicate  curve  on  the  roseate  twi- 
light. Well  may  it  be  fancied  that  an  oracle  of 
the  next  month's  fortunes  is  uttered  therefrom. 
How  many  glad  voices  answer  back  from  the  earth 


IN     WORD-PAINTINGS.  301 

— "There  is  the  new  moon — there  is  the  new 
moon!"  To  change  our  figure,  placed  as  it  is  on 
the  rear  of  the  day,  it  may  be  regarded  as  a  little 
bow  of  sweet  promise  that  every  well-spent  day 
shall  be  crowned  by  a  conscious  peace. 

Then  there  is  a  later,  rounder,  and  finally,  the 
full-orbed  queen  of  night.  With  what  serene  dig- 
nity she  rises  in  a  clear  east,  sweeping  the  ^stars 
with  her  silvery  veil.  She  dazzles  not  the  eyes 
away  like  the  day-king,  commanding  man  to  useful 
industry ;  but  his  labor  over,  she  invites  his  regards, 
and  then  smiles  him  away  to  repose. 

With  the  costume  of  parting  clouds,  she  magni- 
fies her  beauty  to  the  majestic,  and  our  soft  admira- 
tion grows  intense ;  we  do  romantic  homage. 
Behold  her  now  at  loftier  walk  amid  the  stars. 
Fleecy  clouds  perhaps  are  trooping  past,  now  shad- 
ing her  beams,  then  letting  them  through  folds, 
or  flinging  them  from  silvered  edges  as  they  leave 
the  unspecked,  brightened  azure.  When  the  scuds 
are  rapid  on  the  breeze,  how  sportive  the  scene. 
It  is  as  if  the  queen  had  put  aside  her  majesty,  and 
were  at  pastime  with  cloud  and  star.  Our  own 
spirits  dance  in  harmony.  We  almost  wish  for 
wings  or  power  of  disembodied  transition  to  soar 
up  thither  arid  mingle  in  the  magic,  joyous  maze. 

The  autumnal  full  moon  is  the  perfection  of 
lunar  majesty.  It  seems  as  if  she  was  conscious  of 
the  golden  lustre  of  the  harvests,  and  the  effulgence 
of  leaf-hues  ;  and  conscious,  too,  that  in  the  absence 
of  solar  favor,  without  her,  their  glory  would  be- 
26 


302  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

looked  for  in  vain  ;  all  dead  and  shrouded  in  the 
pall  of  darkness ;  the  far  star-gleams,  able  only  to 
disclose  how  great  the  fading  away  had  been. 

The  going  down  of  the  moon  in  the  deep  night 
horizon  has  a  pleasing  beauty.  At  the  older  phases 
there  is  an  accompanying  pensiveness,  as  being  after 
midnight,  the  observer  may  be  left  in  a  darkened, 
sleeping  solitude,  indeed  to  feel  alone. 

We  have  thus  done  our  first  public  devoir  to  the 
gentle  luminary.  To  our  readers  there  was  no 
need,  as  hundreds  before  have  held  up  a  far  better 
medium  of  admiration.  We  might  have  quoted 
from  the  poets,  but  we  would  individualize  our 
offering,  though  it  were  through  the  faint  sheen  of 
our  own  language. 


IN   WORD-PAINTINGS.  303 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE    STARS. 

"  The  faded  West  looks  deep,  as  if  its  blue 
Were  searchable,  and  even  as  I  look, 
The  twilight  hath  stole  over  it,  and  made 
Its  liquid  eye  apparent,  and  above, 
To  the  far- stretching  zenith  and  around, 
As  if  they  waited  on  her  like  a  queen, 
Have  stole  out  the  innumerable  stars, 
To  twinkle  like  intelligence  in  heaven, 
Is  it  not  beautiful  ? 

Fit  for  the  young  affections  to  come  out 
And  bathe  in,  like  an  element !" 

WILLIS. 

To  the  informed  understanding  the  stars  are 
greater,  singly,  than  the  earth's  nearer  satellite,  how- 
ever charming  in  her  friendly  lustre;  together,  they 
are  the  mightiness  of  hosts  in  the  sublimity  of 
magnitude'  and  distance.  But  we  must  now  view 
them  simply  as  scenery,  the  vision's  "poetry  of 
heaven."  Of  all  that  the  sky  presents,  there  is  per- 
haps no  one  object  so  bewitchingly  beautiful  as  the 
evening  star  at  its  largest  phasis.  It  would  seem 
that  the  light  of  the  retiring  sun,  now  disparted 
into  manifold  splendors  and  hues,  had  passed  into 
golden  unity  again,  and  were  inurned  in  that  star, 
and  thence  streamed  down  in  liquid,  yet  softest 


304  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

glory.  No  wonder  it  has  been  named  from  the 
goddess  of  love  ;  for  if  the  seraphic  effulgence  does 
not  directly  excite,  it  certainly  predisposes  to  the 
tender  emotion  in  more  melting  temperaments. 
The  greater  leisure,  and  the  play  of  more  delicate 
sensibilities  at  the  close  of  the  day,  and  the  twi- 
light's train  of  charms,  all  conspire,  probably,  to 
open  the  heart  more  widely  to  this  flow  of  magic. 
No  wonder  the  poets  of  all  time  have  raved  of  the 
"Star  of  Eve."  They  have  found  full  response,  at 
least  from  the  earlier  and  more  romantic  heart.  Our 
youthful  readers  will  not  be  displeased,  we  trust,  at 
whatever  portion  of  the  "dewy  radiance"  we  may 
have  caught  on  our  prosaic  page. 

We  now  turn  to  the  general  heavens.  There  is 
a  singular  aspect  of  them  worthy  of  the  lifted  eye, 
which  we  will  first  describe.  It  is  when  they  are 
all  dotted  over  with  small  cloud-fleeces,  and  equally 
marked  with  azure  openings;  through  these  appear 
the  stars — perhaps  a  single  star  to  a  spot.  How  the 
eye  runs  bewildered  over  the  alternating  variety  of 
the  vault;  reposing  here  and  there  on  the  pillows 
of  cloud,  and  leaning  over  to  the  star-beams  from 
those  cerulean  founts.  At  length  some  single 
luminary  fixe's  the  gaze.  It  is  of  larger  dimension, 
or  some  deeper  emotion  is  called  up  in  the  soul  by 
its  peculiar  radiance.  It  might  almost  be  fancied 
that  the  spirit  of  some  departed  friend  had  taken 
abode  in  the  fair  orb,  and  were  distilling  from  its 
cherished  affections,  sweet,  pure  influences  into  our 
answering  hearts.  Indeed,  all  the  stars  have  a  sort 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  305 

t)f  spiritual  aspect  to  him  who  has  a  refined  fancy, 
and  aspires  after  the  beautiful  in  its  least  sensual 
forms.  When  the  day  toil  is  over,  its  bustle  done, 
and  tranquillity  falls  as  it  were  from  the  great  calm 
heaven  on  all  abroad,  how  the  soul  is  charmed 
away  to  the  stars,  as  to  abodes  where  labor  does  not 
weary,  and  the  weary  of  this  world  may  at  length 
find  rest.  At  least,  we  are  prepared  by  such  con- 
templation to  turn  away  and  shut  the  outward 
sense  to  sleep,  with  the  inward  consciousness  that 
there  is  spread  abroad,  within  this  resplendent  garni- 
ture of  stars,  another  universe  of  purer  and  more 
enrapturing  loveliness  and  glory,  to  the  revelations 
of  which  we  shall  at  length  be  received. 

A  clear  winter  night  is  the  season  to  feel  the 
great  "poetry  of  heaven"  to  the  utmost.  The 
air  is  in  its  best  elemental  purity.  Let  the  earth 
be  mantled  with  the  unstained  snow.  The  pris- 
matic atoms  of  the  surface  reflect  the  star-beams, 
and  spread  a  darkling  magnificence,  as  a  carpet 
fit  for  the  tread  of  upright  man,  with  his  face 
toward  heaven,  and  more  than  ever  realizing  the 
honor  and  glory  with  which  he  has  been  divinely 
crowned.  Now  lift  the  eye — lo,  a  vast  canopy  of 
blazing  gems.  Stand  and  gaze  straight  upward — 
it  holds  ,its  central  height  directly  over  head  ; 
walk — the  cerulean  apex  proceeds  with  you  as  if 
borne  by  invisible  servitors  above  the  apparent  lord 
of  the  scene  ;  one  spacious  white  brilliancy  of  foot- 
stool, one  vast  environage  of  stars — all  owned  by 
him  who  solitarily  stands  amidst.  For  him  the 
26  » 


306  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

"  beautiful  vastness  "  is  in  jewels — a  royal  diadem, 
or  rather  a  courtly  roof  of  woven  diadems,  lifted 
high  and  spread  abroad,  that  kingly  man  might  keep 
the  glory  of  the  emblem  over  his  head,  yet  be  free 
from  the  weight  of  its  richness. 

Thus  far  we  have  regarded  the  heavens  as  a 
scenic  expanse  ;  but  the  picture  retains  the  eye  and 
fills  the  fancy,  an  illusive  moment  only.  Religion 
and  philosophy  speak,  and  the  spell  is  done.  The 
crowns  are  broken,  the  dome  vanishes,  the  gems 
grow  to  suns,  and  the  beholder  is  at  present  but 
a  poor  vital  atom  amid  the  glorious  infinitude  of 
another's  realm  ;  he  is  told  that  his  duty  is  perfect 
obedience  to  this  sovereignty  ;  his  honor,  that  he  is 
an  immortal  and  ever-growing  intelligence  j  his 
glory,  that  he  is  the  offspring  of  God,  who  has 
prepared  a  crown  for  him  surpassing  the  stars,  and 
laid  up,  to  be  put  on  by  the  pure  in  higher,  holier 
heavens. 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  307 


CHAPTER    XX. 

i 

WINTER. 

"  Come  see  the  North  wind's  masonry — 
The  frolic  architecture  of  the  snow." 

R.  W.  EMERSON. 

WINTER  also  has  its  scenery,  and  that  of  a  more 
peculiar  and  striking  interest,  inasmuch  as  the  infi- 
nitely profuse  and  varied  spectacles  of  the  open 
portions  of  the  year  are  almost  entirely  with- 
drawn. 

What  delicate  adornments,  what  magnificent 
shows,  what  exhibitions  of  the  grand  has  winter. 
Take  the  last  of  November  or  the  beginning  of  De- 
cember, when  the  eye  has  begun  to  be  quite  tired 
and  sick  of  the  all-spreading  brown  and  barrenness, 
and  who  does  not  remember  and  feel  the  scene  we 
will  briefly  describe. 

The  clouds  gather  and  thicken,  and  darken  at 
length  into  one  unvaried  hue  all  over  the  sky,  low- 
ering down,  capping  the  mountains,  and  almost 
touching  the  hills.  There  is  no  wind,  the  air  is 
heavy  and  stilled  into  perfect  deadness.  There  are 
guesses  that  it  will  rain.  But  no.  The  cloud  at 
the  distant  horizon  is  shedding  its  contents,  and 
there  of  a  hue  novelly  light.  The  heights  are  hid- 


308  SCENERY-SltOWING, 

den,  as  by  a  loose  curtain  of  mist.  At  length  they 
drop  from  right  above  the  head.  It  is  the  first 
snow  upon  the  prepared  and  waiting  ground.  Its 
damp  feathery  dabs  come  down  quite  perpendicu- 
larly in  the  motionless  air.  You  can  almost  count 
a  hundred  of  them  before  they  stop,  they  are  so 
bulky  and  slow.  Look  up,  and  how  curiously  the 
white,  but  slightly  shadowed  millions  appear.  Look 
down,  and  how  they  pat,  pat,  countlessly  and  all 
without  sound,  except  it  be  the  gentlest  whisper  of 
greeting  to  the  welcoming  earth. 

For  a  few  moments,  how  singularly  beautiful  the 
spectacle  of  the  bright  crystalled  flakes,  sprinkled 
all  over  the  dusky  ground,  roofs  and  fences.  Soon, 
a  universal  white  prevails,  and  finally  it  is  noticea- 
ble and  interesting,  with  what  distinctness  the  foot- 
shapes  of  the  household,  the  cattle,  and  even  the 
domestic  fowls,  are  imprinted  on  the  thin  snow,  as 
on  the  smooth  plate  of  an  engraver.  Such  occa- 
sionally is  the  first  picture  in  the  exhibitions  of 
winter.  Is  it  not  worth  asking  out-door  boyhood 
to  pause  before,  and  leading  more  sedentary  girl- 
hood to  the  window,  to  look  at  ? 

But  let  me  present  picture  second.  We  will 
suppose  it  the  ensuing  day.  Fair  weather  has 
come — a  clear  blue  sky,  a  beaming  sun,  and  a  still 
atmosphere.  Now,  how  delightful  the  contrast 
with  the  melancholy  dun  of  yesterday  morning. 
The  pure  white  carpet,  spreading  all  round  to  the 
whole  circle  of  the  horizon  to  meet  the  pure  azure 
canopy.  Let  the  eye  be  so  placed  as  to  rove  across 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  309 

a  plain,  then  over  hill  above  hill,  and  finally  up 
to  lofty  mountains  piercing  heaven's  bluest  depths 
with  their  whitest  pinnacles,  and  you  have  an  ex- 
pansive magnificence,  and  a  towering  grandeur, 
such  as  the  stern  simplicity  of  winter  alone  can 
present. 

The  break  of  day  over  such  a  scene  is  worth 
taking  a  journey  for.  The  mountain  height  faintly 
reddens  in  the  glimpse  of  the  morning,  then  glows 
more  distinctly,  then  glitters  with  the  richest  radi- 
ance. The  delicate  rose  color  seems  to  run  from 
this  point  as  from  a  centre,  down  the  mountain, 
and  over  the  hill-sides,  and  thence  to  the  plains,  till 
the  whole  face  of  the  snow  is  in  blush,  as  delicate 
and  lovely  as  the  cheek  of  young  and  healthy 
innocence. 

Again,  there  is  a  grandeur  in  the  fierce  snow 
storm,  which  it  is  better  to  feel  and  enjoy,  than  to 
cower  over  a  fire,  thinking  nothing  about  it  but 
safety  from  its  violence.  How  the  element  drives 
through  the  air^  whirls  round  the  edifice,  whips 
against  its  sides,  obscuring  with  its  flaky  mists, 
the  objects  near,  and  altogether  hiding  those  at  a 
distance.  It  is  romance,  it  is  rapture  to  let  one's 
own  spirits  loose  also,  to  mingle  with  the  wild 
career,  and  become,  as  it  were,  a  very  portion  of 
the  harmless  tempest. 

Then  comes  the  clear  cold  next  day.  The 
furious  wind  whistles  from  the  north-west  over  the 
loaded  earth.  How  the  loose  snow  scuds  before 


310  SCENERY-SHOWING, 

the  blast,  down  the  hill,  through  the  valley  or 
across  the  plain,  and  up  the  hills  again,  then  wheel- 
ing into  the  enormous  drift,  or  capering  over  its 
ridgy  summit,  all  as  if  the  snow  streaks  were  alive 
and  mad  with  frolic,  like  a  thousand  white  haired 
coursers,  loosened  from  the  rein.  Were  such  a 
scene  of  elemental  sport  to  be  seen  but  once  in  a 
lifetime,  what  family  would  not  rush  to  the  doors, 
what  school  would  not  leave  study  and  play  to 
enjoy.  But  now  in  its  very  commonness,  not  one 
in  a  thousand  particularly,  minds  it.  Yet  here, 
what  power,  what  swiftness,  and  withal  what 
grace ! 

Would  that  all  the  rustics  of  our  country,  shut  up 
by  snow  drifts,  or  shivering  along  highways  and 
wood-paths,  could  be  aware  of  these  solacing 
charms  which  come  with  the  winter's  cold. 

The  magnificence  of  ice-clad  trees  is  arresting 
to  the  dullest  eye,  and  withal  has  been  so  often 
portrayed  by  writers,  and  so  entirely  above  our 
equalling,  that  our  poor  pen  need  not  describe;  and 
indeed  it  would  be  dazzled  away  should  it  make 
the  attempt. 

One  scene  more — the  wintry-vernal,  if  we  may 
so  call  it.  We  have  the  longer,  warmer  days  of 
the  earliest  spring.  Now  the  melting  of  snows, 
the  trickling  of  tjie  drops,  the  gathering  of  the 
streams,  the  gush  and  rush  of  many  waters — there 
is  a  wild  life  about  this,  which  bewitches  the  spirit 
into  it,  somewhat  as  the  snow  storm  did  from  whose 
brooding  repose  this  water-tempest  is  born.  Bryant 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  311 

has  thus  stirringly  sent  it  through  the  channels  of 
his  verse: — 

"  Then  sing  aloud  the  gushing  rills, 

And  the  full  springs,  from  frost  set  free, 
That,  brightly  leaping  down  the  hills, 
Are  just  set  out  to  meet  the  sea." 


312  SCENERY-SHOWING, 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

CONCLUSION. 

"  His  spirit  drank 

The  spectacle  ;  sensation,  soul,  and  form, 
All  melted  into  him ;  they  swallowed  up 
His  animal  being  ;  in  them  did  he  live, 
And  by  them  did  he  live ;  they  were  his  life." 

WORDSWORTH. 

THESE  lines  express  the  enjoyment  to  be  found 
in  nature  by  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  who 
are  now  without  it,  simply  from  want  of  cultiva- 
tion. We  have  but  poorly  executed  our  work,  but 
we  trust  that  it  may  be  of  some  use  in  leading 
to  self-culture,  and  inciting  parents  and  school 
teachers  to  inspire  a  taste  for  scenery  in  the  young. 
Why  shall  the  sketches  of  painters  be  so  much 
sought,  and  the  originals  of  the  Infinite  Artist  so 
much  neglected  ?  It  should  not  be  so  ;  we  feel 
that  it  should  not  be  so.  Walk  into  a  city  gallery 
of  a  pleasant  day,  and  you  hear  a  few  envied  peo- 
ple of  leisure  criticising  and  admiring  the  tints, 
lights  and  shades  of  the  mimic  landscape,  when  the 
surpassing,  perfected  picturings  of  God  lie  in  ex- 
haustless  profusion  every  where,  to  be  discriminated 
and  admired  by  millions,  without  price,  and  even 
without  slackening  the  hand  of  gainful  toil  ;  but 


IN    WORD-PAINTINGS.  313 

alas  !  now  they  are  as  a  blank,  excepting  to  a  com- 
parative few. 

O,  what  pastimes  of  body  and  spirit  teachers  and 
schools  will  have,  in  the  air,  in  the  beauty,  the 
glory  of  nature  abroad ;  yea  what  ecstasy,  when 
they  shall  duly  estimate  the  difference  between 
man's  mean  school-house  of  timber  and  masonry, 
and  this,  not  made  by  hands,  the  unwalled,  ever- 
aired,  and  healthy  school-room  of  creation. 

Finally,  thus  let  our  country's  men  and  women 
be  trained  from  childhood  up,  and  how  would  early, 
rural  home,  be  all  surrounded  by  pictures,  dear  to 
taste,  to  imagination,  to  heart,  and  to  memory;  pic- 
tures to  which  those  once  resident  there  might  turn 
with  vernal  thrillings,  from  the  coldest,  darkest 
wintriness  of  prolonged  life.  Country,  moreover, 
would  be  sprinkled  with  innumerable  spots  to 
which  the  heart  of  patriotism  would  fasten  ;  yea, 
into  which  it  would  grow,  if  we  may  so  speak,  as 
into  a  warm,  living  bosom.  How  could  such  fail 
to  glow  with  most  effectual  aspirations  to  improve, 
and  bless,  and  glorify  the  land  of  nativity,  and  the 
heritage  of  freedom. 

And  lastly,  but  most  especially,  let  the  idea  of 
the  holy,  parental  Creator  be  ever  connected  as  the 
all-pervading  and  upholding  spirit,  and  how  would 
religion  be  radiant  from  each  tint  of  loveliness; 
how  would  it  envelop  the  forms  of  beauty,  and 
the  masses  of  grandeur,  and  overlay  the  mysterious 
expanses  of  the  sublime !  How  would  Religion, 
going  forth  from  this  inner  temple  of  the  soul,  fill 
27 


314  SCENERY-SHOWING. 

with  its  holy,  enhancing  presence,  the  great  outward 
temple  of  God,  from  the  verdure  and  flowers  around 
the  altar  of  prayer,  to  the  azure  and  stars  of  the 
dome. 


THE 


DIVINE   AGENCY   IN   NATURE 


THE  DIVINE  AGENCY  IN  NATURE. 


THE  unceasing  agency  of  the  Creator  throughout 
his  material  works  is  one  of  the  most  prominent 
doctrines  of  the  Bible.  It  is  early  impressed  on 
most  readers  of  the  sacred  volume,  in  consequence 
of  its  sublimely  striking  representations  of  the  in- 
finite presence,  power,  and  majesty  of  the  Most 
High.  The  prayers  and  hymns  of  the  sanctuary 
abound  in  phraseology  of  similar  import.  The 
hearts  of  worshipers  respond  to  the  language  that 
leads  their  devotions.  But  we  would  ask  if  this  im- 
pression of  the  Divine  presence  and  agency  is  not, 
with  very  many,  a  vague  sentiment  rather  than  a 
clearly  apprehended  truth,  a  profound  conviction  of 
the  understanding.  We  infer  this  to  be  the  fact 
from  the  language  we  often  hear  respecting  nature 
and  its  operations.  The  Laics  of  Nature  is  a 
phrase  that  falls  from  almost  every  tongue.  Teach- 
ers of  philosophy,  especially,  are  in  the  habit  of 
representing  the  Creator  as  having  ordained  certain 
permanent  laws  in  the  beginning,  by  which  all  the 
27* 


3J8  THE    DIVINE    AGENCY 

revolutions  of  the  worlds,  and  all  the  processes  and 
appearances  of  matter,  take  place.  They  seeming- 
ly speak  of  creation  as  a  mighty  machinery,  which, 
once  set  in  motion,  continues  to  go  on  without  any 
further  impulse  from  the  original  contriver  and 
mover.  The  text-books  of  youth  on  Natural 
Science,  and  a  thousand  books  beside,  are  fraught 
with  language  conveying  such  an  impression.  The 
term,  "  Laws  of  Nature,"  has  been  personified,  in- 
dued with  a  life  and  a  will.  Indeed  it  has  almost 
grown  from  a  mere  figure  of  speech  to  be  an  actual 
person,  a  very  entity,  even  the  Creator's  conscious 
vicegerent,  carrying  on  his  works,  while  he  might 
be  away  or  inactive,  almost  as  if  the  Omnipresent 
might  be  absent,  the  Omnipotent  weary  or  delight- 
ing in  rest. 

We  propose  in  the  following  article  to  show,  that 
the  Deity  operates  directly  upon  and  through  the 
material  universe,  without  the  intervention  of  what 
philosophers  call  Laws, — that  all  the  changes  of 
nature  proceed  from  the  instantaneous  impulses  of 
His  almighty  will.  The  subject  is  one  of  exceed- 
ing importance.  It  is  of  the  highest  practical  ten- 
dency in  respect  to  faith,  filial  love,  and  resignation 
toward  the  paternal  Creator.  And  still  further,  it 
•has  a  particular  bearing  on  the  probability  and 
truth  of  the  Miracles  connected  with  our  Religion. 

In  the  first  place,  we  must  dispose  of  the  often 
uttered  and  blindly  used  term,  "  Laws  of  Nature." 
Whence  came  it,  and  what  does  it  mean  ?  The 
word  law,  was  primarily  applied  to  human  conduct. 


IN    NATURE.  319 

It  was  prescribed  to  men  by  those  in  authority  to 
do,  or  forbear  to  do,  certain  things.  The  language 
used  on  the  occasion,  was  denominated  a  law.  The 
definition  of  the  term  is,  a  rule  of  action.  All  know 
that  it  is  not  the  rule  of  action  which  causes  action. 
The  origin  of  conduct,  properly  speaking,  is  the 
living  energies  seated  in  the  constitution  of  man. 
The  law  indeed  may  furnish  a  motive  to  conduct, 
but  it  is  that  centre  of  the  inner  man,  the  will, 
which  is  the  source  of  movement.  From  this  pri- 
mary use  of  the  term,  it  was  transferred,  with  a 
figurative  application,  to  the  works  and  operations 
of  nature.  One  of  the  distinguishing  characteristics 
of  matter  is  regularity  of  appearance  and  of  motion. 
Under  given  circumstances  its  elements  always 
combine  in  a  certain  proportion,  its  particles  or 
masses  tend  in  a  certain  direction,  for  the  accom- 
plishment of  some  important  end  ;  just  as  if  it  pos- 
sessed consciousness,  and  was  obeying  a  mandate 
imposed  by  some  superior  power,  to  whom  it  felt 
constrained  to  submit.  Hence  matter  was  said  to 
obey  certain  laws,  or  acted  according  to  a  rule,  as 
man  does  ;  but  it  is  evident,  that  it  is  not  the  rule 
that  causes  the  action  in  the  one  case  any  more 
than  in  the  other.  For  instance,  an  apple  drops 
from  its  tree  by  a  law  of  nature;  all  that  is  really 
meant  is  this,  that  matter  of  a  due  density,  and  un- 
disturbed by  any  external  force,  uniformly  tends  to- 
ward the  centre  of  the  sphere  to  which  it  belongs, 
as  if  following  a  known  rule  previously  prescribed. 
The  term  gravitation,  is  often  used  as  if  it  were  a 


320  THE    DIVINE    AGENCY 

real  property  of  matter,  or  an  individual  agent  oper- 
ating upon  it.  But  gravitation  is  nothing  but  a 
Word, — a  word  expressive  of  the  fact  that  matter 
tends  toward  matter  -with  a  force  proportionate  to 
distance.  This  word  does  not  explain  the  cause  of 
the  tendency  or  the  ratio  of  force.  To  say  that 
gravitation  makes  the  apple  fall,  or  bodies  tend  to- 
ward each  other,  is,  strictly  speaking,  the  same  as 
saying  that  a  fall  makes  a  fall  and  a  tendency  makes 
a  tendency.  Take  another  instance.  By  a  law  of 
nature  water  freezes  at  a  specific  temperature.  All 
that  the  phrase  really  conveys  is,  that,  on  condition 
that  a  certain  portion  of  caloric  leaves  the  fluid,  it 
becomes  solid.  The  cause  of  the  departure  of  ca- 
loric or  of  the  consequent  change,  is  not  in  the  least 
explained  by  the  terms  by  which  the  phenomenon 
is  expressed. 

Let  us  suppose  ourselves  to  have  been  born  deaf 
and  dumb,  and  moreover  never  to  have  been  taught 
the  use  of  language  by  sight.  We  will  also  sup- 
pose ourselves  to  possess  acute  perceptions,  a  prone- 
ness  to  reflection,  and  an  ardent  curiosity.  We  are 
placed  in  the  midst  of  nature,  with  all  the  elements 
of  a  philosophic  mind,  by  which  we  may  observe, 
compare,  and  infer,  with  not  a  single  word  of  lan- 
guage either  to  aid  or  to  mislead  us.  We  perceive 
the  appie  drop.  We  may,  perhaps,  like  Newton,  of 
ourselves  infer,  or  it  may  be  signified  to  us  by 
others,  that  it  is  brought  down  by  a  power  similar 
to  that  which  makes  our  feet  cleave  to  the  ground, 
the  house  press  on  its  foundations,  and  which  also 


IN    NATURE.  tJKl 

keeps  the  earth  from  flying  off  from  the  sun.  Now- 
all  that  we  shall  perceive  will  be  the  event,  together 
with  its  invariableness,  the  circumstances  being  the 
same,  accompanied  also  with  the  reflection  that  it  is 
of  the  same  nature  with  certain  other  phenomena. 
The  term  law  being  unknown  to  us,  we  cannot 
impute  the  phenomenon  to  this  fancied  agency. 
The  idea  usually  conveyed  by  this  term  could  not 
possibly  enter  our  minds,  and  we  should  be  likely 
to  refer  directly  to  the  Creator  as  the  direct  and  con- 
stant cause  of  what  we  observed. 

What  then  are  the  Laws  of  Nature, — those  invis- 
ible agencies  of  the  philosophers,  which  have  seem- 
ed to  turn  the  wheels  and  tend  upon  the  springs  and 
valves  of  the  universal  machine?  They  are  noth- 
ing but  empty  names,  which  were  originally  adopted 
by  a  figure  of  speech  for  the  sake  of  convenience. 
They  are  mere  words,  which  simply  express  the 
fact,  that  what  we  observed  of  things  yesterday,  we 
also  observe  to-day  and  are  likely  to  observe  to- 
morrow. Or,  slightly  to  vary  the  definition,  they 
are  methods,  or  rules,  according  to  which  the  things 
of  nature  are  done;  and  it  is  of  course  absurd  to 
say,  that  it  is  methods  or  rules  which  do  them. 

How  has  an  occasional  sound  from  perishing  lips 
prevented  the  divine  and  ever-speaking  voice!  How 
has  a  little  language  on  paper  been  as  a  curtain  of 
darkness,  hiding  the  all-surrounding  and  intimately 
present  God ! 

But  there  are  those  who  will  readily  grant  the 
illusiveness  of  the  afore-named  phraseology,  wha 


322  THE    DIVINE    AGENCY 

nevertheless  entertain  a  notion  fully  as  unphilosoph- 
ical  and  untrue  as  that.  They  will  not  allow  the 
immediate  and  ceaseless  agency  of  the  Deity  for 
which  we  contend.  They  say  that  in  the  begin- 
ning the  Creator  willed  his  works  to  start  into 
action,  and  phenomena  to  be  connected  in  an  inva- 
riable order.  This  action  has  continued,  this  con- 
nection has  remained  unbroken  ever  since,  in  con- 
sequence of  this  single  original  act  of  the  Omnipo- 
tent will.  Thus  the  worlds  revolve  and  attract 
each  other,  and  all  the  other  operations  and  process- 
es of  matter  take  place.  Let  us  see  whether  this 
opinion  will  bear  the  test  of  logical  deduction.  In 
the  first  place  let  it  be  remarked,  that  our  ideas  of 
God  are  derived  from  the  analogies  of  man.  All 
will  acknowledge  this,  we  presume.  Effects  or 
changes  in  things  are  produced  by  man,  by  what 
he  calls  his  power.  The  effects  and  changes  in 
nature  are  imputed  to  God,  hence  we  ascribe  to  him 
the  attribute  of  power.  By  a  similar  process  we  as- 
cribe to  him  wisdom  and  goodness, — extending  all 
these  attributes  to  infinity.  So,  when  we  speak  of 
the  will  of  the  Deity,  we  liken  him  to  ourselves. 
We  indue  him  with  a  human  faculty. 

Now,  what  do  we  mean  by  will,  or  the  act  of 
willing?  When  we  will  any  thing  to  be  done, 
there  is  a  desire  of  the  mind,  and  an  impulse  from 
the  mind.  The  desire,  without  an  impulse,  is  not 
an  act  of  the  will.  We  will  to  walk,  and  there  is 
an  impulse  upon  our  physical  powers.  We  will  to 
investigate  some  particular  subject,  and  there  is  an 


IN    NATURE.  323 

application  of  the  faculties  in  that  direction.  If 
any,  however,  are  inclined  to  dispute  our  definition 
of  will,  or  our  description  of  its  operations,  they 
must  at  least  acknowledge,  that  nothing  is  ever 
done  by  human  beings  without  an  impulse  from  the 
centre  and  source  of  power  in  the  mind.  Now 
when  the  Deity  willed  the  masses  and  the  particles 
of  matter  to  assume  certain  forms  and  properties,  and 
to  move  in  certain  directions,  there  must  have  pro- 
ceeded an  impulse  from  the  power  inherent  in  his 
nature. 

Many  seem  to  have  very  vague  ideas  on  this 
point.  They  take  the  figurative  Scripture  as  liter- 
ally expressive  of  the  truth.  God  created  by  his 
word  ;  he  spake,  arid  it  was  done.  They  have  in 
view  something  like  what  would  take  place  should 
we  say  to  the  chair,  Come,  or  to  the  door,  Open, 
and  they  should  immediately  put  themselves  in 
motion,  without  any  exercise  of  our  own  proper 
strength  to  produce  such  an  effect.  So  the  Deity  is 
supposed  to  have  spoken  or  desired,  without  any 
impulsive  power  to  bring  to  pass.  But  let  it  be  repeat- 
ed, that  this  is  straying  wide  from  the  analogies  on 
which  all  our  conceptions  of  the  Divine  Being,  are 
based.  It  is  assuming  for  a  fact,  what  has  not  the 
slightest  shadow  of  evidence.  All  who  make  the 
least  pretensions  to  rationality,  therefore,  must 
allow  a  divine  impulse  in  the  beginning  to  put  the 
universe  in  operation.  But  we.  would  proceed  to 
inquire  if  a  continued  impulse  is  not  necessary  to 
continue  the  universe  in  operation.  There  is  cer~ 


324  THE    DIVINE    AGENCY 

tainly  no  continued  action  from  the  will  of  human 
beings  without  a  continued  impulse  of  a  living 
agent.  If  it  be  said  that  we  put  a  machine  in  mo- 
tion, and  it  continues  to  move  without  any  farther 
exercise  of  our  own  proper  strength  ;  we  reply,  that 
this  is  not  a  parallel  case.  The  machine  is  made 
to  operate  by  an  active  power  inherent  in  matter, — 
gravitation,  for  instance,  and  this  we  affirm  to  be  an 
impulse  from  a  living  agent, — even  the  Creator, 
which  is  the  very  point  we  are  attempting  to  prove. 
The  rule  of  analogy,  therefore,  and  all  the  evidence 
that  can  be  brought  to  bear  on  the  subject,  go  to 
prove,  that  as  impulse  from  the  Divine  mind  was 
necessary  in  the  beginning,  so  impulse  from  the 
same  has  been  necessary  ever  since.  Planets  roll, 
suns  diffuse  their  light,  matter  gravitates,  vegeta- 
tion springs,  and  all  motion  takes  place,  from  that 
of  the  mightiest  orb,  to  that  of  the  minutest  atom, 
in  consequence  of  the  direct  and  immediate  agency 
of  the  infinite  Creator. 

It  is  difficult  for  us  to  realize  that  the  phenomena 
of  nature  proceed  from  the  immediate  spirit,  will, 
and  power  of  God,  because  he  is  invisible.  What 
cannot  be  seen  by  the  physical  eye,  requires  some  ex- 
ercise of  faith  to  believe.  We  can  realize  the  actions 
of  men,  because  we  imagine  ourselves  to  behold 
the  actors.  But  the  difference  between  the  infinite 
agent  and  finite  ones,  as  it  regards  being  seen,  is 
not  so  great  as  it  would  at  first  appear.  When  we 
observe  the  human  body  and  limbs,  form  and  fea- 
tures, we  do  not  behold  the  living  agents  them- 


IN    NATURE.  325 

selves.  It  is  the  instruments  of  organized  and  ani- 
mated earth  they  use,  and  not  themselves,  that 
meet  our  eyes.  Let  the  soul  suddenly  leave  an 
individual,  the  form  and  lineaments  for  a  while  may 
be  unchanged,  and  to  ordinary  observation  the  same 
as  when  breathing  with  life  ;  but  our  fellow-being 
has  gone  forever ;  and  that  which  we  called  his 
person,  and  which  for  the  first  moment  seemed 
unaltered,  is  now  a  corpse,  a  portion  of  the  com- 
mon dust.  The  only  known  agent  is  mind  ;  and 
what  mortal  man  has  ever  set  his  eyes  upon  the 
mind  of  man  ?  It  is  most  philosophically  and  cer- 
tainly true,  that  the  active  beings  who  enliven  the 
land  with  business,  the  active  beings  who  have 
crowded  the  great  world  with  its  eventful  history, 
were  never  by  earthly  vision  seen.  It  is  the  spirit- 
moved  matter  which  alone  is  perceptible,  and  not 
the  spirit  itself.  Human  agents  are  therefore  as 
invisible  as  the  Divinity.  They  are  both  indicated 
to  be  present,  by  the  actions  proceeding  from  their 
impulses.  If  the  moving  of  the  human  limbs  con- 
vince us  that  there  is  an  unseen  soul  present  and 
controlling  them,  so  all  the  mighty  movements  and 
regular  changes  of  creation  should  likewise  con- 
vince us,  that  they  as  directly  proceed  from  the 
energies  of  creation's  unseen  God.  It  is  education 
and  habit,  that  make  us  slow  to  believe.  Could  we 
forget  the  use  of  language,  so  that  the  convenient 
term,  laws  of  nature,  would  vanish  out  of  mind  ; 
could  we  moreover  forget  that  we  had  been  accus- 
tomed from  earliest  infancy  to  the  ordinary  revolu- 
28 


326  THE    DIVINE    AGENCY 

lions  and  processes  of  matter ;  or  could  we  be 
placed  at  once,  with  adult  faculties,  in  the  midst  of 
this  visible  scene  of  things,  we  should  most  un- 
doubtedly realize  that  there  is  a  mighty,  invisible 
Power  moving,  sustaining,  and  controlling  all  that 
should  meet  our  wandering  eyes. 

With  this  view,  the  sublime  scriptural  descriptions 
of  the  omnipresence  and  omnipotence  of  the  Deity 
are  not  mere  metaphor  ;  they  are  but  the  earliest 
and  poetic  garb  of  philosophic  and  eternal  truth. 
The  clouds  are  his  chariot, — they  are  rolled  by  the 
propulsion  of  the  viewless  energies  they  infold. 
And  doth  he  not  fly  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  ? 
Its  swiftness  and  its  strength  are  the  effluence  of 
his  power.  His  pavilion  round  about  him  is  dark 
waters.  The  ocean  that  in  wraps  the  earth,  the 
floods  that  expand  in  the  sky,  are  the  dwelling  of 
his  might.  With  Him  is  terrible  majesty.  The 
Lord  thundereth  in  the  heavens  ;  and  the  Highest 
giveth  his  voice.  He  shooteth  out  the  arrows  of 
his  lightning,  and  flaming  fires  are  his  ministry. 
He  toucheth  the  hills,  and  they  smoke.  At  his 
presence  the  mountains  flow  down,  yea,  are  over- 
turned by  their  roots  ;  and  the  earth  trembleth  and 
is  dissolved.  The  heavens  declare  his  glory.  He 
covereth  himself  with  light  as  with  a  garment. 
The  infinitude  of  stars  is  the  robe  of  his  omni- 
presence. 

We  would  now  advert  to  some  important  uses  of 
the  doctrine  we  have  endeavored  to  establish.  It 
gives  us  a  very  distinct  and  satisfactory  view  of  the 


IN    NATURE.  327 

manner  in  which  the  Creator  continues  to  exercise 
a  providence  over  his  creatures.  If  the  material 
creation  were  carried  on  by  the  agency  of  laws,  or 
in  consequence  of  one  original  act  of  the  Infinite 
will,  there  would  certainly  be  no  such  thing  as  an 
immediate  superintending  Providence  over  our  lives, 
as  we  are  assured  there  is  by  Revelation.  For  what 
would  the  Deity  be  but  an  idle  being,  or  at  least 
mostly  so,  in  respect  to  the  earth  and  all  other 
worlds,  and  the  creatures  of  flesh  and  sense  therein 
passing  through  their  first  stage  of  existence^ 
Universal  nature  would  indeed  be  but  a  machine. 
The  hand  omnipotent  that  formed  it  is  withdrawn 
forever,  excepting  that  it  returns  on  great  occasions 
with  a  miraculous  touch,  to  remind  us  of  its  exist- 
ence. "  Our  Father  in  Heaven,"  is  but  an  unmean- 
ing sound. 

In  what  respects  is  a  paternal  providence  mani- 
fested, according  to  Christian  belief?  Is  it  not  in 
the  appointment  of  the  unforeseen  vicissitudes  of 
life, — the  lot  of  health  or  sickness,  prosperity  or 
adversity  ?  But  these  do  most  intimately  depend 
on  those  changes  in  material  things  which  take 
place  according  to  an  established  mode  of  operation, 
or  in  obedience  to  those  laws  which  are  said  to 
pervade  and  control  the  works  of  God.  For  in- 
stance, when  we  are  brought  to  the  brink  of  the 
grave  by  disease,  do  we  not  feel  that  our  lives  im- 
mediately depend  on  the  will  of  the" Giver?  And 
when  we  recover,  do  we  not  acknowledge  the  hand 
of  the  Most  Merciful  ?  We  say  that  "  the  Lord 


328  THE    DIVINE    AGENCY 

chasteneth  whom  he  loveth."  "  Affliction  cometh 
not  forth  of  the  dust."  Yet  we  know  that  the 
disorder  by  which  we  sink,  and  the  causes  by 
which  we  rise,  are  as  natural,  as  that  the  inanimate 
foliage  should  wither  in  the  frost  and  put  forth 
again  in  spring.  If  we  are  rich,  and  the  flames 
consume  or  the  tempest  sweeps  away  our  well- 
earned  wealth,  if  of  Christian  heart,  we  believe 
that  the  all- wise  Disposer  designs  that  we  should 
lose  and  be  poor.  With  the  Psalmist  we  might 
exclaim,  "  Fire  and  hail,  snow  and  vapor,  and 
stormy  wind  fulfil  his  word  !  "  Nevertheless,  in 
all  these  things,  there  is  nothing  apparent  but  inan- 
imate matter  proceeding  according  to  fixed  methods 
of  operation.  Indeed,  nothing  ever  happens  to  us 
through  the  physical  world  and  our  bodily  consti- 
tution, which  does  not  take  place  according  to  these 
methods,  or  in  obedience  to  what  are  called  natural 
laws.  Where,  then,  is  the  immediate  providence 
over  our  lives, — a  Father's  unceasing  care  over  his 
beloved  children,  unless  these  material  instruments 
directly  affecting  us  are  within  the  immediate  grasp 
and  subject  to  the  actual  moving  of  the  parental 
hand  ?  Our  argument  proves,  we  think,  that  this 
is  the  truth.  The  volumes  of  Revelation  and  Na- 
ture agree.  The  light  of  the  Divine  countenance 
is  lifted  upon  us  in  philosophy  as  well  as  in  the 
figurative  Word.  Well  may  it  be  said,  that  not  a 
sparrow  is  forgotten  before  God,  or  falleth  to  the 
ground  without  our  Father.  It  is  true  that  he 
numbereth  and  keepeth  the  very  hairs  of  our  heads. 


IN    NATURE. 

He  is  indeed  the  breathing  of  our  life,  the  health 
of  our  countenance, — the  giver  of  every  good  and 
perfect  gift.  In  all  that  makes  us  happy,  we  can- 
not but  realize  a  Father's  immediate  bounty,  as 
much  as  if  the  blessing  dropped  from  an  opening 
hand  in  the  skies.  From  the  mightiest  to  the  mi- 
nutest of  physical  objects  and  operations,  there  is  a 
present  consciousness  and  care.  Not  only  the 
flying  orbs  of  immensity,  which  vary  not  a  hair 
from  the  path,  or  a  moment  from  the  year  ap- 
pointed, but  every  particle  that  converges  toward 
its  respective  centre  is  an  argument  for  a  provi- 
dence,— a  providence  over  all  that  breathe,  from 
upright  man  with  face  toward  heaven,  to  the  or- 
ganized atoms  that  mingle  life  with  the  very 
elements.  This  is  indeed  to  be  the  Friend,  the 
Father,  the  All-in-all  of  an  enjoying  creation.  It 
is  a  different  character  from  one,  who  created  at 
first,  and  then  left  a  machinery  of  laws  coldly 
rolling  and  vibrating  throughout  his  material  works. 
With  this  view,  it  is  not  merely  the  heart  uplifted 
to  the  sublime  of  devotion,  but  the  understanding 
assenting  to  eternal  truth,  when  we  exclaim  with 
the  Apostle,  "In  Him  we  live,  and  move,  and  have 
our  being  ;  for  of  Him  and  through  Him  and  to 
Him  are  all  things." 

We  may  now  be  permitted  to  make  a  practical 
appeal  respecting  our  doctrine.  It  regards  its  use 
in  the  education  of  the  young.  We  have  intimated 
before,  that  the  text-books  of  students  abound  in 
the  deceptive  term,  "Laws  of  Nature."  The  same 
28* 


330 


THE    DIVINE    AGENCY 


phrase  is  ever  on  the  lip  of  instruction.  And  how 
many  teachers  explain  the  phenomena  of  nature, 
and  perform  "  beautiful  experiments  "  on  the  affin- 
ities of  ,  matter,  with  scarcely  an  allusion  to  the 
Divine  Author  and  Mover  of  all.  Like  the  idols  of 
the  heathen,  which  at  length  diverted  the  wor- 
shiper from  the  divinities  they  represented,  so  also, 
only  worse,  both  the  teacher  and  the  taught,  have 
been  withheld  from  the  Only  and  True  Power  in 
nature  by  a  convenient  representative, — more  unreal 
than  the  idolater's  image, — by  an  unsubstantial 
word.  Science  seems  to  be  pursued  from  mere 
curiosity,  or  to  lift  the  learner  to  the  reputable 
eminence  of  knowing,  or  to  furnish  the  coarse 
utilities  of  work-day  life  and  gain-getting  hands. 
Some,  perhaps,  may  have  a  vague  notion  of  dis- 
ciplining the  faculties,  but  how  very  few  aspire  to 
exalt  and  sanctify  the  soul  by  the  aid  of  science. 
The  beauty,  grandeur,  and  gloriousness  of  creation 
are  presented  as  a  mere  pastime  to  the  vision,  or  a 
luxury  to  the  taste  of  an  epicurized  intellect.  How 
seldom  recognized  is  the  SpiriJ  that  expresses  itself 
through  these  lines  and  lineaments.  This  should 
not  be  so.  It  would  not  be  so,  did  all  who  instruct 
.possess  the  true  unction  of  their  calling.  No  won- 
der that  so  many  of  our  young  men  know  not  the 
truth  and  the  delightfulness  of  piety.  The  necessary 
appliances  are  not  made  by  the  hands  set  apart  to 
the  work.  Let  the  teacher  of  science  feel,  that  he 
is  not  merely  the  expounder  of  mechanical  and 
vital  nature,  but  that  he  is  also  the  teacher  of  Nat- 


IN    NATURE.  331 

ural  Religion,  the  interpreter  of  God.  As  much 
depends  on  him,  as  on  the  pulpit  or  the  theological 
chair.  The  teacher  of  science  presents  objects  and 
phenomena  to  the  senses ;  and,  while  sense  and 
intellect  are  fastened  on  these  unquestioned  verities, 
he  may  take  the  heart  by  surprise,  and  burst  forth 
in  a  strain  which  shall  forever  associate  the  Creator 
with  his  works  in  the  minds  of  his  pupils. 

We  would  moreover  urge  our  views  on  the 
teacher  in  the  Sunday  school.  Let  not  the  more 
dependent  minds  here  be  distracted  from  the  truth 
by  a  blftiding  and  unexplained  phraseology.  With 
the  opening  spring,  many  schools,  interrupted  by  the 
inconveniences  of  winter,  are  again  renewed.  It  is 
the  favorite  season  of  childhood,  as  if  it  found  a 
living  sympathy  in  the  emblem  of  its  own  tender 
period.  Of  all  the  year,  this  is  the  most  propitious 
time  for  making  it  feel  the  realities  of  the  Divine 
presence  and  agency.  The  faithful  teacher  cannot 
but  seize  on  the  opportunity  to  impress  his  pupils 
with  the  perfections  of  the  Creator.  The  little  en- 
joyers  need  hardly  be  prompted  to  inquire  what  has 
produced  the  delightful  change.  Let  them  be 
taught  aright.  Discourse,  if  you  please,  of  what  is 
called  cause  and  effect,  of  the  revolving  earth,  the 
increasing  vyarmth,  and  nourishing  moisture,  but 
speak  not  of  these  operations  and  elements  as  if 
they  were  nothing  but  a  machine.  Say  not  merely, 
"  Our  Father  made  them  all," — putting  the  space  of 
centuries  between  the  filial  soul  and  the  paternal 
presence, — but  rather  say,  he  is  making,  is  repeat- 


332  THE    DIVINE    AGENCY 

ing  what  he  has  done  for  his  children  from  creation 
until  now.  Let  every  object  and  every  change  in 
nature  betoken  the  indwelling  and  ever-working 
and  all-loving  Spirit ;  and  the  rain  shall  not  drop, 
and  the  dew  distil  on  the  tender  herbage,  with  a 
more  vital  and  beautifying  influence,  than  that  of 
your  instruction  upon  the  tender  and  forth-putting 
heart ;  and  God  shall  bless  the  "springing  thereof." 
Thus  shall  Religion  have  its  sweet  and  holy 
prime. 

We  intimated  that  the  doctrine  we  have  endeav- 
ored to  establish,  had  an  important  bearing*  on  the 
miracles  connected  with  our  religion.  We  will 
now  devote  a  brief  space  to  this  point.  The  Deist 
also  is  beguiled  by  this  delusive  phrase,  "  Laws  of 
Nature."  With  him  a  figure  of  speech  has  become 
an  agent ;  or,  rather,  creation  is  a  machine  put  in 
motion  by  the  Infinite  Artist,  and  decreed  to  go  on 
for  ever  without  further  interference.  We  hope  to 
have  proved  to  his  candid  mind,  that  the  Laws  of 
Nature,  if  any  thing,  are  the  immediate  and" cease- 
less energies  of  nature's  indwelling  and  ever-living 
Soul ;  that  the  boundless  material  machine  is  inti- 
mately and  essentially  connected  with  its  Creator, 
and  is  acted  upon  every  moment,  in  every  mass  and 
particle,  by  the  all-diffusive  power  of  the  universal 
God.  We  believe  that  this  agency  is  exercised  in 
that  chosen  and  particular  manner,  which  will  on 
the  whole  promote  the  highest  possible  good  of  his 
creatures.  Now  if  his  omniscent  wisdom  perceives 
that  this  highest  possible  good  can  best  be  effected 


IN    NATURE. 

by  occasional  deviations  from  his  ordinary  course, 
being  essentially  present  to  all  matter,  he  can  as 
well  deviate  from  his  general  mode  as  proceed  in  it. 
Miracles  are  no  disordering  of  a  machinery  impelled 
by  its  Maker  to  changeless  rounds  and  vibrations. 
Miracles  are  integral  portions  of  one  infinite  plan, 
the  unbroken  continuity  of  everlasting  action.  He 
who  is  directly  pouring  Jordan  to  its  sea,  is  as  able 
to  stop  it  in  its  flow  as  to  bear  it  onward.  He  could 
as  well  hush  the  winds  and  sink  the  billows  to 
stillness  at  the  prayer  of  the  Saviour,  as  stir  the  ele- 
ments to  a  tempest.  The  resurrection  of  Jesus  was 
not  more  difficult  to  his  power  than  stopping  the 
currents  of  vitality  at  death.  He  could  as  well 
raise  to  life,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  all  that  have 
breathed  and  died  since  Adam,  as  have  returned 
them  to  the  dust,  one  by  one,  through  the  long 
space  of  centuries. 

Let  the  preceding  view  qf  the  Creator  be  im- 
pressed on  the  Deistic  unbeliever,  and  we  cannot  but 
think  that  he  will  have  taken  a  considerable  step 
toward  a  thorough  conviction  of  the  divine  origin 
and  miraculous  circumstances  of  Christianity.  It  is 
highly  important,  therefore,  that  this  view  should  be 
clearly  apprehended  by  all  believers,  and  especially 
by  all  the  teachers  and  defenders  of  our  faith. 

In  view  of  the  growing  infidelity  of  the  day,  we 
regret  that  the  error  we  have  endeavored  to  expose 
is  so  prevalent  among  sincere  believers.  They  be- 
lieve in  the  reality  and  sufficiency  of  laws,  or  at 
least  in  one  original  impulse  from  the  Divine  Will 


334  THE    DIVINE    AGENCY. 

adequate  to  all  subsequent  order  and  action.  But, 
this  being  the  truth,  what  are  the  declarations  con- 
cerning an  immediate  paternal  Providence,  which 
throng  the  Sacred  Volume  ?  what  are  they  but  illu- 
sive clouds  of  metaphor,  instead  of  clear  illumina- 
tions from  the  Father  of  lights?  We  apprehend 
that  many  of  liberal  education,  and  especially  those 
particularly  interested  in  natural  science,  entertain 
the  same,  not  only  unscriptural,  but  unphilosophical 
opinion. 

Ask  these  men  of  liberal  acquirements,  What  is 
the  present  employment  of  the  Creator,  if  his 
works  are  continued  in  action  by  the  supposed  de- 
puted efficiency  ?  and  they  reply,  that  he  is  active 
in  some  new  geological  or  animal  formation  in  some 
unfinished  planet.  Or  he  is  creating  from  its  dust, 
and  induing  with  his  image,  the  lords  of  some  com- 
pleted world,  to  replenish  and  subdue  it.  And  per- 
haps he  is  performing  miraculous  wonders  to  re- 
claim and  educate  the  sinful  race  of  some  other 
sphere.  Seemingly  as  if  the  Almighty  and  Omni- 
present portioned  out  his  energies  upon  spots  ;  or  as 
if,  excepting  these  few  and  scattered  localities  of 
action,  he  rested  in  slumberous  complacency,  in  the 
midst  of  his  perfected  works. 


THE   DEVOUT  AFRICAN.. 


MANY  of  the  colored  population  of  Boston  were' 
once  slaves  at  the  South.  Their  lives  have  been 
fraught  with  labors,  pains,  hopes,  fears,  agonies, 
perilous  adventure,  and  perhaps  of  loftiest  heroism,, 
such  as  the  hue-scorning  White  would  wonder  at 
and  think  gloriously  romantic  in  anybody's  life  and 
character  but  those  of  the  Negro.  Among  them,, 
too,  are  the  proud  world's  "  little  ones,"  who  are 
high  Heaven's  greatest ;  the  despising  of  whom,  I 
verily  believe,  will  be  found  a  fearful  thing  in  the 
judgments  of  eternity.  Let  facts  illustrate. 

In  the  summer  of  1845,  my  duties  in  the 
Ministry-at-large  led  me  through  the1  African  ob- 
scurities of  West  Boston.  In  one  little  yard,  in 
different  abodes,  I  found  three  individuals  who  had' 
once  been  in  Southern  servitude,  and  who  were 
entire  strangers  to  each  other  till  they  came  together 
in  this  city  from  their  separate  thraldoms.  One- 
was  a  middle-aged  woman,  who  told  me  a  most 
melting  tale  about  severance  from  her  children  and 
29 


338  THE    DEVOUT    AFRICAN. 

the  rending  of  her  maternal  heart  by  the  domestic 
slave-trade.  The  other  two  were  aged  men  of 
above  four-score  years.  The  story  of  one  I  will 
here  relate. 

Thomas  Bailey  lived  in  a  little  room  in  a  third 
story,  reached  by  a  steep,  narrow  stairway.  On 
entering,  I  excused  my  intrusion  by  announcing  my- 
self as  a  missionary  to  the  poor.  His  countenance 
lighted  up  at  this,  and  he  said  that  he  was  always 
glad  to  see  any  of  God's  children.  I  soon  elicited 
his  history. 

For  more  than  fifty  years  of  his  life  he  was  a 
slave  on  a  Southern  plantation.  It  was  his  fortune, 
however,  to  have  an  uncommonly  kind  master,  who 
was  an  Englishman  by  birth.  He  had  chosen  for 
a  wife  a  woman  residing  on  a  neighboring  planta- 
tion, near  a  navigable  river.  He  had  himself  as 
much  happiness  as  could  be  expected  by  one  of  his 
lot.  But  the  war  of  1812  came  on,  and  the  British 
made  depredations  on  the  estates  near  the  water- 
side. The  master  of  his  wife,  fearing  to  lose  his 
slaves  by  means  of  the  enemy,  resolved  to  send 
them  off  to  Alexandria,  to  be  sold  by  auction,  and 
Bailey's  wife  and  seven  children  among  the  rest. 
The  husband  and  father  was  in  agony.  How  inex- 
pressibly precious  were  these  eight  living  beings  ! 
He  owned  nothing  in  the  world  but  them — the 
treasures  of  his  heart,  legalized  by  the  Father  of 
Spirits  and  the  God  of  Love.  These  were  to  be 
torn  forever  from  his  embrace,  from  his  sight,  and 
perhaps  to  be  scattered  also  from  each  other,  brother 


THE    DEVOUT    AFRICAN.  .         339 

and  sister,  each  in  a  different  direction,  and  far 
away  likewise  from  the  mother  that  bore  them,  and 
who  loved  them  as  she  did  her  life.  But  this  horrid 
separation  was  prevented  on  the  eve  of  accomplish- 
ment, by  the  enemy's  burning  the  vessel  in  which 
they  were  to  be  taken  lo  the  slave-market.  He 
now  resolved  to  do  his  utmost,  and  dare  any  danger 
for  their  rescue.  Under  the  cover  of  night,  and  by 
the  blessing  of  God,  he  was  soon  able  to  convey  his 
whole  family  on  board  a  British  vessel  lying  not 
far  off  in  the  river.  What  a  foretaste  of  heaven 
must  have  been  their  ecstatic  joy  at  such  a  deliver- 
ance— a  fortune  so  different  from  the  fate  which 
shortly  before  seemed  a  very  certainty. 

They  were  all  carried  by  their  new  friends  to 
one  of  the  West  India  Islands,  where  they  staid  a 
year.  During  this  period  one  of  the  children  was 
taken  away,  not  to  irretrievable  bondage,  but  to  the 
freedom  of  the  heavenly  kingdom.  They  then 
emigrated  to  Halifax  in  the  British  Provinces. 
Here  his  home  was  soon  made  lonely  and  his  heart 
desolate  by  the  decease  of  his  wife.  He  had  before 
led  a  life  of  good  ordinary  morality,  but  he  had  not 
experienced  the  regenerating  power  of  religion,  and 
he  felt  the  need  of  consolations  which  this  world 
had  not  to  give.  By  the  grace  of  God,  under  the 
preaching  of  a  Baptist  clergyman,  he  became  a  pro- 
fessed disciple  of  Jesus.  His  account  of  his  con- 
version and  of  his  subsequent  life  was  full  of 
touching  pathos.  "  O  !  "  said  he,  "  the  Lord  called 
to  me  in  a  voice  that  went  to  the  core  of  my  heart, 


340 


THE    DEVOUT    AFRICAN. 


and  I  obeyed  him.  He  gave  me  the  influences  of 
his  Spirit  ;  then,  O !  how  I  loved  my  heavenly 
Father ;  I  loved  all  my  fellow  men ;  I  loved  all  the 
animals,  the  very  creeping  things,  indeed  every 
thing  that  God  made,  because  he  made  them.  I 
was  very  ignorant,  for  I  had  never  learned  to  read, 
and  I  was  ready  to  receive  instruction  from  any 
body ;  a  little  babe  might  have  taught  me,  I  felt  so 
humble  and  I  so  wanted  to  learn." 

He  said  that  he  now  felt  how  very  important  it 
was  that  his  children  should  be  trained  up  aright. 
Their  mother  being  dead,  all  the  care  came  on 
him,  and  he  felt  that  as  a  Christian  father  he  had  a 
great  duty  to  perform.  Although  by  going  out  at 
jobbing  in  the  city  he  might  make  his  labor  much 
more  profitable,  yet,  having  learned  at  the  South  to 
cobble  shoes,  he  resolved  to  pursue  this  business 
now,  at  home,  so  that  he  might  always  be  there  to 
take  care  of  his  children.  He  could  not  teach  them 
much,  but  he  could  keep  them  from  some  evil  and 
do  them  some  good.  He  had  them  kneel  around 
him  every  night  and  morning  while  he  prayed  to 
their  Father  in  heaven.  At  their  humble  meals,  he 
made  them  cross  their  hands  and  bow  their  heads 
while  he  craved  the  Divine  blessing  on  their  food. 
Thus  he  continued  in  his  bereavement,  and  trained 
up  his  six  children  till  they  were  old  enough  to 
take  care  of  themselves.  Then  he  went  out  from 
hom«  to  work  at  much  larger  pay.  He  continued 
in  Halifax  till  about  a  year  previous  to  the  time  I 
met  him,  when  he  carne  to  Boston,  to  visit  a 


THE    DEVOUT    AFRICAN.  341 

daughter.  O!  thought  I,  would  that  the  fathers, 
even  the  well-educated  fathers  of  this  favored  city, 
were  as  faithful  as  you.  I  spoke  of  Sabbath  privi- 
leges and  of  religious  meetings  generally.  "  O  !  " 
exclaimed  he,  "  they  are  very  precious  to  me.  I 
could  not  do  without  them.  Prayer  is  my  meat, 
my  drink,  my  very  breath  of  life."  What  a  beau- 
tiful climax  —  the  earnest  eloquence  of  a  devout 
heart !  He  could  not  read  a  word,  but  on  an  old 
desk  lay  a  Bible,  to  which  I  alluded,  and  he  re- 
marked that  he  should  be  very  thankful  if  I  would 
read  a  chapter.  I  therefore  read  the  CHI.  Psalm. 
When  I  had  got  through,  and  looked  from  the  book 
to  the  man,  I  found  him  bending  forward,  his  arms 
resting  on  his  lap,  his  lips  slightly  parted,  his  dark 
eye  distended,  and  all  swimming  and  glistening 
with  the  moisture  of  emotion,  and  his  face  was 
alive,  every  particle  of  it,  with  expression.  The 
beaming  light  of  intense  Christian  faith,  hope  and 
love,  irradiated  his  features;  arid  that  old,  wrinkled, 
ebony  countenance  was  absolutely  beautiful ;  it  was 
the  beauty  of  holiness;  like  that  of  those  who  had 
passed  within  the  veil.  I  felt  that  he  was  nearer  to 
the  mercy-seat  than  myself,  and  was  of  worthier 
utterance  before  the  Hearer  of  prayer,  and  I  request- 
ed him  to  pray.  At  once,  as  if  the  act  was  as 
familiar  to  him  as  converse  with  a  friend,  he  knelt 
down  and  poured  out  one  of  the  most  heart- 
expressing  and  heart-stirring  prayers  I  ever  heard. 
His  voice  was  not  loud  and  boisterous  as  that  of 
devotion  sometimes  is,  with  the  ignorant  enthusiast, 
29* 


342  THE    DEVOUT    AFRICAN. 

but  was  subdued  to  a  soft,  yet  still  most  earnest 
tone,  and  flowed  into  my  ear  with  a  melody  like 
notes  from  music-chords.  They  indeed  flowed  into 
my  heart.  I  had  not  an  idea  originating  with  my- 
self; his  thoughts  and  feelings  were  individualized 
directly  from  him  into  me.  That  prayer,  indeed, 
seemed  to  run  directly  through  my  soul — a  sort  of 
religious  electricity,  kindling  and  melting  and  fitting 
it  to  mingle  with  and  be  blessed  by  those  holy 
influences  from  the  heavenly  Father,  which  were 
ready  and  waiting  for  union  with  the  spirit  of  his 
child  yet  in  the  flesh. 

Such  was  my  interview  with  the  poor  old  Afri- 
can. When  I  came  away,  it  was  with  tardy  steps 
and  lingering  looks  behind.  It  seemed  as  if  I  had 
been  at  the  gate  of  heaven,  and  had  caught  a  last 
earthly  glimpse  of  one  about  to  pass  through.  In- 
deed, I  saw  him  no  more,  for,  on  returning  to  the 
place  a  few  days  after,  I  found  that  he  had  gone  to 
one  of  his  children  in  another  city. 

Phrenologists  say  that  the  constitutional  religious 
tendencies  are  stronger  in  the  Negro  than  in  any 
other  race  of  men.  I  believe  this  aged  saint's 
character  to  be  an  exponent  of  the  religious  capac- 
ity of  his  people.  I  believe  in  all  sincerity  that 
when  the  African  South  shall  have  freedom  and 
*he  Bible,  and  a  due  Christian  culture,  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  will  come  there  with  a  power  and  a 
glory  unsurpassed.  Indeed,  I  have  the  faith  that  it 
will  be  the  religious  paradise  of  the  land,  and  an 
example  to  the  proud  white  world  which  it  cannot 
despise,  yea,  of  which  it  will  almost  stand  in  awe. 


EMULATION, 


MOTIVE   TO   STUDY. 


NOTE. — The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  Lecture  on  "  Fixing 
the  Attention  of  the  Young,"  delivered  before  the  American  Insti- 
tute of  Instruction  in  1834.  The  views  presented  are  respectfully 
submitted  to  Parents  and  Teachers,  as  differing  somewhat  from 
prevalent  opinions  and  practice. 


EMULATION,  AS  A  MOTIVE  TO  STUDY. 


WHAT  is  emulation  as  it  has  been  applied  in  edu- 
cation ?  It  is  the  desire  to  outdo  others  who  belong 
to  the  same  class  arid  are  engaged  in  the  same 
studies.  It  amounts  to  close  and  personal  rivalry, 
and  implies  that  if  one  gains  and  rejoices,  another 
must  lose  and  regret.  Certain  external  distinctions 
are  offered  as  marks  of  superiority.  In  common 
schools,  there  is  the  HEAD,  and  the  gradations  of 
honor  thence  to  ihefoot.  Then  there  are  medals, 
books,  and  certificates,  held  up  as  prizes  to  be  con- 
tended for.  In  colleges,  there  are  what  are  called 
PARTS,  from  the  grand  oration  down  to  the  insigni- 
ficant and  unspoken  theme,  which  indicates  that 
even  stupidity  has  been  struggling  for  honors,  or 
that  idleness  has  had  them  conferred,  such  as  they 
are,  whether  it  would  or  not.  Those  who  receive 
these  tokens,  or  rather  the  most  respectable  of  them, 
are  regarded  as  meritorious,  above  others  to  whom, 
they  have  not  been  accorded.  Such  is  the  system 
that  has  prevailed  almost  universally,  and  continues 


346  EMULATION   AS    A 

almost  as  universally  as  ever.  My  first  objection  to 
it  is  the  exceeding  injustice  to  which  it  gives  rise. 
We  should  naturally  say  that  a  person's  reward  in 
any  course  should  be  in  proportion  to  his  exertions. 
When  one  arrives  at  some  exalted  station,  through 
a  long  course  of  unremitted  and  laudable  endeavor, 
our  feelings  toward  him  in  respect  to  the  distinction, 
are  far  different  from  what  they  would  be,  had  it 
been  conferred  on  him  by  inheritance,  or  by  the 
intrigues  or  blind  impulse  of  party.  Supposing  that 
the  language  of  Scripture  is  to  be  literally  fulfilled, 
and  that  mankind  are  to  be  rewarded  and  punished 
in  a  future  life  by  judicial  decision,  all  would  an- 
ticipate, with  the  utmost  confidence,  from  Infinite 
justice,  that  it  would  reward  according  to  the  efforts 
that  had  been  made,  and  the  difficulties  that  had 
been  overcome.  No  one  would  dishonor  the  Divine 
judgment-seat,  with  even  the  flitting  fancy,  that  he 
whose  moral  path  had  been  smooth  and  of  easy 
ascent,  would  receive  so  warm  a  plaudit  and  so  rich 
a  crown,  as  he  who  had  attained  the  same  height 
over  a  rough  and  impeded  way.  Reason  and  con- 
science tell  us  what  would  be  justice  in  heaven, 
and  should  we  listen,  would  they  not  tell  us  what 
would  be  justice  on  earth  ?  In  the  educational 
course,  if  external  rewards  are  conferred,  ought 
they  not  to  be  conferred  according  to  the  same  rule  ; 
that  is,  according  to  the  exertions  made,  and  the 
obstacles  surmounted  ?  But  it  is  not  so  in  our  sem- 
inaries of  learning.  There,  the  members  of  a  class 
are  treated  as  if  they  all  possessed  by  nature  equal 


MOTIVE    TO    STUDY.  347 

ability  to  run  the  same  race,  and  that  the  differ- 
ence between  one  and  another,  lay  in  the  heart — in 
the  will  rather  than  in  the  intellect.  The  purpose 
of  the  rewards  proposed,  is  to  arouse  the  sleeping 
affections,  and  impel  the  sluggish  will.  Of  course, 
the  award  ought  to  be  made  somewhat  in  propor- 
tion as  the  heart  has  been  given  to  duty. 

Now  scholars  differ  from  each  other  in  intellectual 
capacity,  full  as  much  as  in  features  or  in  bodily 
dimensions  and  strength,  and  perhaps  more.  Some 
are  inferior  to  others  in  certain  particular  faculties, 
and  some  are  inferior  in  the  whole  intellect.  There 
are  those  whom  nature  has  endowed  with  extraor- 
dinary talents.  These  will,  perhaps,  assume  and 
maintain  the  first  rank  at  recitation,  with  very  little 
exeVtion  in  comparison  with  others.  Such  have 
been  known  to  be  among  the  most  idle  and  dissi- 
pated at  college,  and  yet  to  bear  away  some  of  the 
first  honors,  when  in  fact  there  belonged  to  them 
no  more  real  desert  for  their  scholarship,  than  be- 
longed to  Goliath  for  wielding  a  spear  like  a 
weaver's  beam  in  his  giant  hand,  instead  of  a 
weapon  of  ordinary  size.  It  may  not  indeed  very 
often  happen  that  a  brilliant  but  profligate  young 
man  takes  the  higher  honors,  but  it  does  very  fre- 
quently, indeed  I  may  say  always,  happen  that  the 
rewards  are  in  proportion  to  natural  capacity,  rather 
than  to  exertion  or  a  conscientious  devotion  to  the 
objects  of  education.  Now  is  this  justice?  It 
surely  is  ;  I  hear  it  replied  by  the  advocate  for 
emulation.  If  a  youth  possesses  superior  powers, 


348  EMULATION    AS    A 

"  he  has  a  right  to  all  the  fruits  of  these  powers. 
He  has  a  right  to  take  the  standing  his  Maker  has 
given  him.  It  is  his  estate  to  which  he  can  make 
out  the  best  of  all  titles— the  gift  of  God."  It  is 
rejoined  that  such  a  youth  has  justice  done  him,  he 
enjoys  the  fruits  of  his  powers,  he  takes  his  proper 
standing,  whether  the  head  of  a  spelling  class  at 
school  or  the  English  oration  at  college  be  given 
him  or  not.  His  abilities,  if  exercised,  will  be 
known ;  his  companions  will  accord  to  him  the 
distinction  of  possessing  them,  and  he  will  be  con- 
scious of  them  himself.  Now  this  accorded  dis- 
tinction, and  this  conscious  possession,  are  those 
fruits  which  he  has  a  right  to  enjoy.  Besides,  the 
ease  with  which  he  can  accomplish  his  studies,  is 
another  happy  consequence  which  no  one  can  take 
from  him.  Then  again,  the  Phrenologists  main- 
tain that  God's  own  finger,  as  it  were,  writes  the 
name  and  the  number  of  talents  on  the  very  brow 
of  their  possessor,  for  all  the  world  to  read,  will 
they  but  study  the  divine  hand-writing.  If  this  be 
true,  there  are  insignia  before  the  eyes  of  all,  which 
no  man  can  take  away.  At  any  rate,  to  say  that 
talent  cannot  have  its  proper  standing  and  due 
honor,  without  medals,  parts,  and  other  prizes,  is 
about  the  same  as  saying  that  the  great  stars  of 
heaven  show  not  forth  their  superior  magnitude  and 
surpassing  glory,  unless  observed  through  a  gilded 
telescope. 

The  next  objection  which  may  be  brought  against 
emulation,  as   it   has  been   used,   is  the   injury  to 


MOTIVE    TO    STUDY.  349 

health  of  which  it  is  often  the  occasion.  The 
close  competition  between  individuals,  in  our  col- 
leges especially,  has  laid  the  foundation,  in  many  a 
constitution,  for  feeble  health  the  whole  life  after- 
ward. It  has  caused  many  to  be  cut  off  in  the 
flower  of  their  days.  A  young  man  born  in  pov- 
erty and  obscurity,  is  endued  with  a  superior 
nature.  He  aspires  to  ascend  the  intellectual 
heights  and  command  that  wide  horizon  of  knowl- 
edge which  is  the  privilege  of  the  educated  few. 
He  flings  aside  the  rustic's  tools  and  garb,  and  fits 
hastily  for  college.  He  perhaps  barely  enters,  in 
consequence  of  too  brief  a  preparation.  There  he 
finds  that  rank  and  distinction  depend  on  brilliancy 
of  recitation.  He  has  not  wealth,  he  has  not  gen- 
teel arid  influential  connections,  and  he  feels  that 
his  success  in  life,  at  the  outset  at  least,  depends 
somewhat  on  his  collegiate  standing.  A  high 
standing  then,  he  is  resolved  to  attain  ;  but  it  is  only 
by  severe,  sickening,  and  an  almost  killing  appli- 
cation that  he  can  rise  above  his  disadvantages. 
He  bows  himself  to  the  work,  and  he  bows  himself 
perhaps  to  the  yoke  of  long  and  wretched  infirmity, 
in  consequence.  Perhaps  he  is  borne  from  con- 
sumption's lingering  bed  to  the  grave,  before  half 
the  collegiate  course  shall  have  been  passed.  He 
had  better  continued  at  the  hammer  or  the  plough, 
and  been  contented  with  the  reading  of  labor's 
scanty  leisure. 

But  it   is   not  always  the   student,  such  as  just 
described,  who  is  the   only  sufferer ;  the  rich,  the 
30 


350  EMULATION    AS    A 

well  prepared,  and  at  the  same  time  highly  talented, 
sometimes  sacrifice  health  and  life  to  the  merciless 
spirit  of  emulation.  Now  the  physical  well-being 
of  the  young,  should  be  most  carefully  watched 
over  by  their  instructors  and  guardians.  Is  not  a 
system,  therefore,  which  directly  tends  to  the  de- 
struction or  jeopardy  of  health,  to  say  the  least, 
somewhat  questionable  ? 

I  have  spoken  of  the  danger  of  the  emulation 
system  to  the  bodily  health ;  there  is  still  greater 
and  more  general  danger  to  the  spiritual  nature. 
What  anxieties  does  it  occasion  to  the  alternately 
hoping  and  fearing  aspirant  !  What  discourage- 
ment, despondency,  disappointment,  and  despair, 
does  it  introduce  into  what  should  be  the  calm, 
self-possessed,  and  steadily  advancing  mind  !  Then 
there  is  that  bane  of  the  sweet  social  relations, 
envy ;  and  with  it,  detraction  ;  and  next,  bitter 
malignity.  Such,  at  least,  is  the  tendency  of  emu- 
lation. The  principle  may  be  likened  to  that  dia- 
bolical spirit  who  was  the  father  of  sin,  who  was 
the  mother  of  death. 

There  is  another  evil  ;  emulation  diverts  the  stu- 
dent's aim  from  the  real  end  of  study.  He  is 
gradually  led  to  think,  not  o'  the  discipline  of  his 
mind  and  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  but  of  the 
mere  art  of  recitation  and  the  mark  he  may  thereby 
acquire.  I  have  known  young  men  who  entered 
college  with  no  other  intention  than  to  inform  and 
elevate  and  strengthen  their  minds,  who  soon  for- 
got everything  but  the  paltry  honors  they  must 


MOTIVE    TO    STUDY.  351 

yield  to  their  rivals,  if  they  did  not  strive  for  them 
themselves.  The  pleasures  of  study  were  alto- 
gether swallowed  up  in  hopes  and  fears  about  reci- 
tation and  rank.  And  they  were  heartily  rejoiced 
when  the  collegiate  course  was  terminated,  not  be- 
cause they  had  been  educated  and  prepared  for 
high  usefulness,  but  because  the  torture  of  rivalry 
was  done,  and  they  were  freed  from  anxiety  and 
miserable  suspense,  concerning  their  final  standing 
and  closing  honors. 

Again,  emulation  has  been  far  from  producing  its 
intended  effect.  It  has  had  a  directly  contrary 
effect  on  no  small  portion  of  students.  Nearly,  if 
not  quite  one-half  of  every  class  at  college,  are 
entirely  unreached  by  this  principle,  unless  it  be  to 
stop  and  stupefy  the  intellect,  instead  of  stimulating 
it.  They  reason  in  this  way — if  we  cannot  stand 
high,  let  us  have  no  standing"  at  all.  Let  us  be 
known  as  devoting  our  time  to  anything  rather  than 
our  prescribed  books,  then  our  low  rank  will  be 
imputed  not  to  the  lack  of  talents,  but  of  industry. 
Some  of  the  young  at  the  greater  seminaries,  much 
prefer  to  be  thought  destitute  of  morals  than  of 
intellect.  I  have  no  doubt  that  emulation,  in  past 
times,  has  been  of  considerable  use,  in  consequence 
of  the  absence  of  other  and  better  motives.  Had 
this  principle  not  been  artificially  and  keenly  ex- 
cited, and  other  motives  not  been  applied,  there 
would  indeed  have  been  but  little  study,  and 
our  seminaries  would  have  been  little  better  than 
halls  of  amusement  and  social  lounging  places. 


352  EMULATION    AS    A 

The  philosophy  of  youthful  nature  has  not  been 
understood,  and  the  true  and  best  modes  of  educa- 
tion have  been  undiscovered  ;  during  this  period  of 
ignorance,  the  emulation  of  the  schools  has  been 
better  than  no  exciting  motive  at  all.  For,  a  large 
portion  of  the  studies  have  been  of  such  a  charac- 
ter, or  have  been  presented  in  such  a  manner,  that 
the  youth  would  hardly  pursue  them  with  dili- 
gence, without  some  strong  stimulant.  He  would 
scarcely  da  it  for  the  simple  pleasure  of  study. 
Emulation,  like  the  principle  of  resentment,  was 
implanted  by  the  Creator,  to  be  of  use  in  the  pri- 
mary stages  of  the  progress  of  our  race,  when  the 
animal  prevailed  over  the  spiritual,  in  the  human 
constitution.  As  better  motives  become  understood 
and  can  be  brought  to  bear  on  the  conduct  with 
efficiency,  this  primitive,  coarse  and  heathen  stimu- 
lant should  be  let  alorije.  Nevertheless,  it  will  not 
altogether  slumber,  but,  like  resentment,  it  will 
kindle  up  and  fire  the  heart  sufficiently,  without 
any  artificial  cherishing. 

No  one  is  pleased  to  be  outdone.  You  may  say 
not  a  word  about  excelling,  present  no  prize,  and 
accord  not  the  least  external  distinction,  and  still 
the  native  emulation  of  many  will  not  permit  them 
to  be  easily  excelled.  I  have  no  objection  to  this 
natural  and  gentle  operation  of  the  principle  in 
question,  provided  that  envy  and  other  unhappy 
feelings  do  not  intrude  into  its  company.  I  would 
even  say  that  there  are  some  cases  in  which  I 
would  take  pains  to  excite  emulation  to  keener  ac- 


MOTIVE    TO    STUDY. 


353 


tion.  There  is  now  and  then  a  dull  and  sluggish 
soul,  which  needs  the  aid  of  such  a  stimulant. 
"In  such  hearts  this  quickening  fire  needs  to  be 
lighted  up,"  that  is,  I  would  add,  if  all  better  and 
nobler  motives  fail  of  effect.  But  that  these  few- 
may  be  properly  affected,  it  is  not  necessary  to  con- 
tinue that  system  of  external  and  graduated  distinc- 
tions, now  in  general  use.  The  dull  and  sluggish, 
the  doubtful  and  discouraged,  better  go  directly  to 
the  manual  drudgeries  of  life,  than  that  others, 
many  or  few,  should  rankle  with  the  prick  of  a 
goad,  they  do  not  need.  But  under  the  operation 
of  this  system,  let  it  be  repeated,  where  one  of  the 
above  mentioned  unfortunate  natures  is  happily 
excited,  two  are  made  more  inveterately  stupid,  or 
plunged  into  a  gloomier  despair. 

Permit  me  now  to  propose  a  substitute  foe  the 
objectionable  principle,  which  may  be  brought,  I 
think,  to  bear  with  no  small  effect  on  the  minds 
and  efforts  of  the  young.  I  can  call  this  substitute 
by  no  better  name  than  SELF-EMULATION.  Let  the 
young  be  encouraged  to  study,  from  a  comparison 
of  themselves  with  themselves.  One  of  the  first 
principles  developed  in  our  nature,  is  the  love  of 
increasing  power.  The  child  delights  to  excel 
himself — to  do  more  than  he  has  ever  done  before. 
What  beaming  pleasure  on  the  countenance,  when 
he  can  take  a  few  more  steps  without  falling,  or 
can  lift  and  hold  with  his  little  hands  a  larger  and 
heavier  article,  or  when  he  has  mastered  in  articu- 
lation and  memory  another  word  !  Now  let  this 
30* 


EMULATION    AS    A 

principle  be  seized  on  early,  and  used  continually. 
When  the  pupil  enters  school,  let  the  teacher,  as 
far  as  may  be,  acquaint  himself  with  his  natural 
capacities,  and  with  the  acquisitions  already  made. 
Let  a  record  of  these  be  put  in  a  book,  kept  for  this 
purpose.  Let  this  record  be  the  starting  point, 
from  which  his  future  progress  is  to  be  measured. 
Let  him  be  made  acquainted  with  his  own  condi- 
tion and  capabilities,  and  receive  approbation  in 
proportion  as  he  shall  rise  above  this  point.  Let 
the  pupil  be  continually  referred  to  his  past  condi- 
tion, as  one  from  which  he  is  continually  to  dis- 
tance himself,  according  to  the  ability  naturally 
possessed,  for  this  is  always  to  be  taken  into  the 
account ;  then,  if  progress  be  unavoidably  slow, 
the  endeavor  will  receive  the  commendation.  In 
this  way,  there  need  be  no  straining  and  abuse,  of 
nature,  no  anxiety  of  heart ;  the  path  of  learning 
may  be  one  of  pleasantness  and  peace. 

In  this  spirit  of  self-cornparison  and  self-surpass- 
ing, there  is  a  rivalship  which  can  do  no  harm. 
Here,  too,  is  a  rival  always  present,  if  I  may  con- 
tinue thus  figuratively  to  speak.  Self  is  always 
present  with  self.  The  exertions  cannot  be  relaxed 
for  the  want  of  the  exciting  cause. 

This  emulation  may  be  applied  to  the  whole 
man — to  moral  as  well  as  intellectual  improvement. 
Let  the  moral  character  be  always  taken  into  the 
account,  and  put  on  the  register  likewise.  It  has 
been  an  exceeding  and  very  lamentable  mistake, 
that  the  mental  and  moral  education  have  been  so 


MOTIVE    TO    STUDY.  355 

separated,  or  rather,  perhaps,  that  the  moral  has 
been  so  utterly  neglected  on  all  hands.  Whoever 
has  the  charge  of  a  young  mind,  should  be  a  moral 
educator ;  should  be  as  well  qualified  in  this  respect 
as  in  every  other ;  should  be  as  scrupulous  and  un- 
weariedly  assiduous  in  this  respect  as  in  any  other. 
But  I  will  defer  further  remark  on  this  topic  to 
another  head  of  my  lecture.  Let  me  now  insist 
that  the  condition  and  character  of  the  whole  mind 
be  registered,  from  time  to  time,  in  the  appropriate 
book.  This  registry  is  a  very  important  particular. 
The  remembrances  of  both  teacher  and  pupil  are 
more  or  less  evanescent,  and  may  be  inaccurate. 
They  may  not  correspond  with  each  other,  any 
more  than  business  accounts  which  buyer  and  seller 
carry  only  in  the  memory.  But  black  and  white, 
which  both  agree  upon  at  the  time,  cannot  after- 
ward be  disputed.  These  notations  strike  the 
senses,  and  thereby  give  impulse  to  the  feelings. 
They  are  like  mile-stones  on  the  way,  to  inform  how 
far  we  have  come,  and  with  what  speed  we  are 
moving. 

In  the  examinations  of  schools  and  colleges,  let 
the  record  be  open  to  those  appointed  to  examine 
the  classes.  Let  them  be  open  to  the  inspection  of 
any  one,  and  especially  of  the  anxious  relatives  and 
interested  friends  of  the  pupil,  that  they  may  know 
his  exact  merits  through  the  whole  course.  How 
little,  how  very  little  do  parents  know  of  the  con- 
dition and  character  of  their  sons  in  college.  As  to 
their  intellectual  standing,  the  parts,  as  they  are 


356  EMULATION   AS    A 

called,  indicate  something,  but  nothing  very  accu- 
rately. If  a  young  man  receives  a  low  part,  or 
none  at  all,  his  confiding  friends  are  easily  made  to 
believe  that  the  college  dispensers  of  honor  have 
been  unjust.  But  of  the  moral  character  of  a  son, 
the  parents  in  general  know  absolutely  nothing. 
They  can  judge  only  from  the  exhibitions  of  him- 
self he  makes  at  home.  If  the  youth,  happens  to 
receive  the  distinction  of  rustication  or  dismission, 
it  must  of  course  be  supposed  that  all  is  not  right. 
But  even  these  notorious  tokens  of  disapprobation, 
do  by  no  means  accurately  indicate  the  character. 
Sometimes  the  simple-hearted  and  quite  innocent, 
having  been  allured  into  some  sportive  enterprise, 
are  detected  and  punished,  although  their  moral 
character,  in  general,  may  be  incomparably  superior 
to  many  who  hold  the  noiseless  but  dark  and  devi- 
ous tenor  of  their  way.  Instances  could  be  men- 
tioned, in  which  parents  have  rejoiced  that  their  sons 
were  so  diligent  and  orderly  at  the  distant  seminary, 
when  at  this  very  time,  these  loved  and  hopeful 
ones  were  among  the  most  idle  and  dissolute. 

Now,  in  the  proposed  registry  of  character,  there 
can  be  no  deception,  no  escape.  At  any  time,  the 
scholarship  and  the  morals  may  be  ascertained,  by 
making  the  proper  reference.  What  if  friends  be 
mortified  and  the  youth  put  to  shame  ?  Is  it  not 
better,  than  that  his  time  and  money  be  utterly 
thrown  away,  and  perhaps  his  constitution  be  in- 
jured or  his  morals  corrupted  for  life  ?  But  such 
mortification  and  shame  will  very  seldom  take 


MOTIVE    TO    STUDY. 


place.  The  youth  will  understand,  at*  the  threshold 
of  the  seminary,  the  system  to  be  pursued  and  the 
destiny  awaiting.  He  knows  that  a  map  of  his 
whole  character  is  to  be  drawn,  as  far  as  it  is  dis- 
coverable, and  that  this  is  to  be  open  to  the  inspec- 
tion of  all,  and  to  remain  in  the  archives  of  the 
institution,  to  be  traced  by  all  his  friends,  and  even 
descendants,  who  may  enter  or  visit  the  seminary, 
forever  afterwards.  Now  should  the  student  know 
all  this  beforehand,  and  be  continually  conscious  of 
it  as  he  proceeds,  he  would,  I  doubt  not,  commence 
with  an  impulse,  go  on  with  a  momentum,  and 
close  with  an  improvement  and  an  honor,  which 
would  cause  the  venerable  Alma  Mater,  now  slum- 
bering in  her  prejudices,  to  rejoice  most  heartily 
that  she  had  at  length  awaked  from  her  ancient 
repose.  The  instances  of  mortification  and  shame 
would  be  far  less  numerous  than  they  are  now,  as 
seldom  as  mortifying  and  shameful  things  now 
come  to  light.  I  believe  that  self-emulation  would 
be  a  very  general  feeling,  and  self-improvement  the 
general  aim  and  attainment.  ' 

"  But  this  system  will  cost  quite  too  much 
trouble.  It  will  require  a  minuteness  of  super- 
vision which  cannot  be  afforded.  The  plan  is  not 
feasible."  In  answer  to  this  objection  it  may  be 
observed,  that  it  is  more  than  probable  that  the 
time  and  money  now  expended  in  the  long  run,  in 
managing  the  refractory,  quelling  rebellions,  and 
repairing  depredations,  would  be  amply  sufficient 
for  the  constant  and  minute  supervision  of  the  plan 


358  EMULATION    AS    A 

proposed.  But  if  it  be  not  so,  let  all  pomp,  show 
and  circumstance  be  abolished,  which  do  not  confer 
a  greater  good  on  our  seminaries  than  might  be 
obtained  in  some  other  way,  at  the  same  expense. 
Why  shall  usages  be  retained  simply  because  they 
are  usages  ?  It  is  the  best  possible  education  of  the 
greatest  possible  number  that  we  want,  and  at  the 
least  possible  cost  consistent  with  the  greatest  good 
on  the  whole.  Must  the  great  and  widely  scattered 
public  suffer,  that  the  pleasant  literary  associations 
of  a  few  may  be  kept  fresh  and  not  lose  their  hold 
on  the  heart  ?  I  have  no  particular  objections, 
however,  against  the  customary  literary  festivals. 
All  I  would  urge  is,  that  they  had  better  be  abol- 
ished than  that  such  minute  and  particular  attention 
should  not  be  given  to  each  individual,  as  to  confer 
on  him  the  most  thorough  mental  and  moral  educa- 
tion. Let  the  -great  end  be  kept  always  broad  in 
view,  and  the  most  direct  course  be  taken  towards 
that  end.  Let  the  paths  of  education,  like  those  of 
business,  be  straight.  The  people  of  the  country, 
in  visiting  the  city,  make  the  most  of  time  and 
money.  They  do  not  wind  along  the  ancient  and 
crooked,  but  more  verdant  and  flower-scented  ways  ; 
they  take  the  turnpike  and  the  rail-road.  So  it 
should  be  with  those  they  employ  to  educate  their 
children.  Their  road  should  be  straight  ;  and  they 
should  adopt,  moreover,  whatever  new  and  real 
facilities,  invention  may  from  time  to  time  bring  to 
light. 

It   may  be   thought  that  too  much  is  expected 


MOTIVE    TO    STUDY.  359 

from  this  booking  of  character  and  this  self-emnla- 
lation.  It  is  replied,  that  these  are  but  a  part  of  the 
system ;  these  alone,  truly,  may  not  produce  the 
effect  above  anticipated.  Light  should  be  thrown 
on  the  student's  way,  and  impulse  given  to  his 
heart  in  connection  with  these.  For  instance,  the 
student  should  have  instruction  respecting  his  na- 
ture arid  destiny,  such  as  hitherto  has  been  very 
uncommon  in  schools  and  colleges.  The  young 
have  generally  entered  and  .continued  in  these  insti- 
tutions as  thoughtless,  and  indeed  as  ignorant  of  the 
real  objects  of  existence  and  ends  of  education,  as 
they  were  of  the  particulars  of  a  science  which  had 
not  yet  been  discovered.  They  go  to  college,  for 
instance,  because  custom  has  made  a  course  there 
necessary  to  what  are  called  the  learned  professions. 
Or  they  go  to  attain  a  respectability  of  standing 
which  they  could  not  otherwise  possess. 

At  academies  and  common  schools,  no  better 
views,  nor  generally  so  good,  could  be  expected  to 
prevail.  Now  such  are  the  motives  with  which 
parents  send  their  children  to  the  places  of  learn- 
ing, and  such  are  the  motives  with  which  their 
children  go,  if  they  go  from  any  other  motive  than 
that  they  are  sent.  And  are  they  imbued  with  a 
loftier  spirit  by  their  instructors?  Most  certainly 
not,  in  general.  Now  it  ought  not  to  be  thus.  A 
child  should  be  taught  as  early  as  he  is  capable,  his 
real  nature  and  great  destiny.  He  should  be  taught 
that  his  true  self  is  a  soul,  and  not  the  material, 
sensual  and  perishable  body.  Let  him  know  dial 


360  EMULATION    AS    A 

this  is  but  the  "  house  he  lives  in,"  to  quote  the 
apt  language  of  a  benefactor  of  youth.  Make  him 
realize  that  the  house  was  made  for  the  inmate,  and 
not  the  inmate  for  the  house.  Make  him  realize 
that  himself,  that  is,  this  invisible  but  conscious 
soul,  shall  not  and  cannot  die  as  the  body  does. 
Let  him  understand  that  going  to  school,  that 
education,  has  reference  to  a  future  life  ;  to  eternity 
as  well  as  to  time.  That  indeed  it  may  make  him 
more  respectable  and  useful,  comfortable  and  happy 
in  this  life,  but  the  principal  end  is  the  life  to  come. 
Teach  him  that  every  step  forward  in  true  knowl- 
edge, is  an  advance  on  an  endless  way  ;  that  every 
new  truth  he  acquires  is  his  forever,  a  treasure,  as  it 
were,  laid  up  in  heaven;  and  that  increasing  strength 
and  facility  is  a  preparation  for,  and  an  approach  to, 
that  ability  necessary  to  climb  the  heights,  gather 
the  riches,  and  wear  the  glories  of  the  spiritual 
universe.  I  would,  of  course,  use  a  simpler  mode 
of  expression  than  this,  always  adapting  the  lan- 
guage to  the  young  comprehension.  Now,  fill  the 
pupil's  soul  and  fire  his  aspirations,  as  early  as  pos- 
sible, with  these  ideas,  and  let  them  glow  with  an 
increasing  faith  and  fervency,  as  he  shall  proceed 
from  stage  to  stage,  and  with  what  exceeding  effect 
may  they  be  brought  to  bear  on  the  later  periods  of 
his  education.  Then  the  sciences  of  the  material 
creation  will  be  presented  to  him,  in  all  their  beau- 
tiful details  and  magnificent  extent ;  then  the  prin- 
ciples of  that  mind  will  be  more  clearly  unfolded, 
by  which  he  has  dominion  over  the  Divine  works, 


MOTIVE    TO   STUDY.  361 

and  by  which,  like  the  Infinite  Maker  himself,  he 
has  a  glory  above  the  heavens.  And  then  he  can- 
not but  feel  how  unworthy  of  himself  is  idleness, 
and  how  utterly  beneath  himself  and  abominable, 
is  that  sensuality  into  which  the  young  man  is  now 
so  prone  to  fall. 

When  the  young  shall  thus  duly  realize  that  the 
great  end,  not  only  of  this  life  but  of  eternity,  is 
the  growth  of  the  soul,  how  will  self-emulation 
take  hold  of  the  spirit  with  ever-abiding  and  ever- 
impelling  power.  They  will  constantly  realize 
that  it  is  as  much  their  nature  and  destiny  to  rise 
perpetually  above  their  present  selves,  as  it  is  to 
think  and  to  feel.  To  catch  the  beautiful  figure  of 
the  Lecture  on  Emulation,  of  last  year,  that  ladder 
which  the  sleeping  Patriarch  saw  in  his  dream,  will 
be  placed  before  the  youth  without  a  vision ;  i^s 
foot  supported  by  earth,  its  summit  leaning  on  the 
skies.  Most  truly  the  ladder  will  be  before  him, 
without  those  evil  remembrances,  class  emulation 
and  personal  rivalry.  He  may  not  be  unconscious 
of  the  radiant  way,  and  active  steps  of  ascending 
companions  ;  but  his  intenser  thoughts  will  be  given 
to  the  beckoning  angels,  leaning  with  sweet  sym- 
pathy from  the  heavenly  verge,  and  to  the  glorious 
avenues  that  open  endlessly  upward  and  beyond. 


31 


A  PRAYER. 


"BE    YE   THEREFORE   PERFECT,    EVEN  AS   YOUR    FATHER    "WHICH   IS    IN 
HEAVEN  IS  PERFECT." 

FATHER  in  Heaven  !  Thou  who-  hearest  pray'r, 

Who  modest  me — who  makest  me  thy  care, 

Be  glory  thine,  that  I  am  not  the  clay 

Of  brutish  life,  that  perisheth  away, 

But  MAN, — earth's  lord,  in  thine  own  image  formed, 

Breathing  thy  breath,  by  thine  own  spirit  warm'd  ; 

Deathless  as  thou  art ;  made  to  mount  tow'rd  thee, 

O'er  self  triumphing,  through  eternity. 

O  blest  command,  by  thy  Beloved,  given, 

Of,  "  Be  ye  perfect,"  as  THOU  art,  in  heaven  ! 

Thou  Giver,  kind,  of  every  perfect  gift, 

Whose  height,  the  low  above  themselves  can  lift, 

Whose  strength  upon  the  strengthless  sheds  a  might, 

Whose  radiance  round  the  dark  diffuses  light — 

0  let  thine  all-sufficiency  descend 
On  my  beginning  for  thy  glorious  end ! 
Though  such  thy  purpose — such  I  am  to  be, 

1  fail — I  fall,  unless  I  hold  to  thee  ; 

Thy  child  would  fasten  to  those  living  ties, 
By  which  the  faithful  cling  and  climb  the  skies  ; 


364  A    PRAYER. 

That  chain  of  hallow'd  feeling,  holy  thought, 

Up  which  they  tend,  down  which  thy  spirit's  brought, 

Whose  links  from  earth,  through  heaven  still  bright'ning  run, 

Till  lost  in  glories  of  the  HIGHEST  ONE. 

O  Gracious  Father !  upward  as  I  spring, 

Upon  my  soul  thine  influences  fling ; 

As  thought  and  feeling  lift  the  fervent  pray'r, 

Let  fall  thy  spirit  in  its  fullness  there  ; 

As  swell  the  strains  of  gratitude  and  love, 

Speed  me  to  nobler  songs  of  praise  above. 

Still  would  I  be  what  yet  I  ne'er  have  been, 

And  grasp  at  glory  faith  alone  hath  seen, 

Would  tread  where  angels,  arch-angels,  have  trod, 

To  stand  perfection,  face  to  face  with  GOD  ! 


r 


A     000  676  678     6 


